


It's Never Just Simple.

by breakthebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Angry Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Gets Shot, Desperate Sam Winchester, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heartbroken Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Self-Sacrifice, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Torture, Vengeful Dean Winchester, Vengeful Sam Winchester, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22523569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakthebox/pseuds/breakthebox
Summary: Lauren has been hunting with the Winchesters for three years now, and finally knows what it's like to be loved. But kissing Sam goodbye one day may prove to be the worst mistake she ever makes. When she is taken from them in broad daylight, Sam and Dean are desperate to get her back - this is what they do, after all; saving people. Hunting things. Lauren would take down a horde of vampires if they were standing between her and the Winchesters. But this is different. This brand of monster can't be found in the pages of John's journal, and it will take all they have to get through it.Buckle up. The nightmare is just beginning.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Vacay, Y'all

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone! I hope you enjoy this little project I've been working on. I'd love some constructive criticism if you have any, so please, comment away! I'm dying to know what people think of this project. I'm attempting daily updates, but I'll make a note if that changes.
> 
> Also, I know my layout of the bunker is off (I haven't watched in a while, and have reslarted from the beginning so my memory is a bit fuzzy) - please forgive that, I intend to go back and sort it out once all the chapters are posted (for the sake of this story, the bunker entrance has stairs that lead down to the kitchen/dining room, the study behind it along and the rest of the bunker and off to the left of the kitchen is a hallway with a bathroom and their bedrooms.)
> 
> Please note that there will be mentions/descriptions of violence (generally) and rape (in later chapters) so take care of your minds.
> 
> x

Three years and not a single damn day off.

Lauren huffed and blew a wayward strand of her blonde hair from her eyes as she shouldered the shovel. She made a mental note to ask Sam to cut it for her – it was too short to put up in any semblance of a ponytail, but just long enough to be maddening. She had tried headbands for a hot minute, but Dean’s cracks about catholic schoolgirls put an end to that pretty damn quick.

“You good?” Sam asked as Lauren reached up out of the grave – he gripped her forearm with his good hand (the ghost of Jenna Campbell had tossed him into a bookcase and fucked his wrist) and hauled her up into the crisp night air.

“I need a shower.” She said, tossing the shovel to the ground and tucking her hair behind her ears. “And a drink.” _And a goddamn holiday,_ she added mentally.

Sam smiled that sheepish smile, dimples making an appearance.

“But right now, I’ll take a kiss.” Lauren’s eyes met Sam’s and for a second there was nowhere else she wanted to be. Sam’s grin widened and he leant in, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to her lips. Pulling apart, Lauren reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a book of matches – Sam shook out some salt and lighter fluid over the corpse, and with a practiced flick Lauren tossed the burning matches into the grave.

“Bye-bye Jenna Campbell.” Sam said, fingering his sore wrist. He glanced over at Lauren, the firelight flickering over her features. Even covered in filth, the glimmer of blood just visible at her hairline, he thought that for sure there had never been anyone as beautiful. She caught him staring and turned to face him.

“What?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Come on Lozzie, let’s get you that drink.”

****

Back at the Bunker, clean and ensconced in her comfiest sweater and leggings, Lauren poured out three glasses of bourbon. Balancing them in one hand, she grabbed the bottle and carried it over to where the boys sat at the table.

“Nice to see you’ve still got those waitressing skills, Loz.” Dean smirked, taking two of the glasses from her hand and passing one to Sam. She bumped him playfully with her hip as she passed him to sit next to Sam. Sammy looked up with a smile as she approached before turning his gaze back to the laptop screen in front of him as he scrolled through the day’s headlines.

“Four years pushing tables will do that to you.” She replied, holding her glass up and then knocking it back. She felt the warmth spread through her belly and sighed contentedly. “So What’s next?”

The salt and burn of Jenna Campbell had been one of what felt like a billion little jobs that the trio had been chipping away at for the past six weeks, and even though none of them would say it aloud the return to relative normalcy had been a relief. But, because those two were Winchesters and Lauren always seemed to have trouble at her back instead of a shadow, the gut feeling in the room was that it couldn’t last. The other shoe would drop eventually.

“Nothing, at the moment.” Sam said, sipping at his bourbon. Noting Lauren’s empty glass, he reached forward and topped her up.

“Wait, what?” She frowned, leaning in to look at the screen.

“Yep.” Dean said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know his mouth was quirked in a sardonic half smile. “All quiet on the Western Front. For the first time, ever.”

“Maybe someone thought we needed a holiday.” Lauren said, nudging Sam’s hand off the trackpad and closing the laptop.

“We’re us. We don’t get holidays.” Dean said, lifting his glass to his lips – he paused before he took a sip. “But hey, don’t punch a gift horse in the mouth, am I right?”

Sam snorted. “That’s not the saying, Dean.”

“So what? Lauren’s right – let’s take what we can get.”

Lauren arched an eyebrow. “Are you actually agreeing with me, Dean Winchester?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, God knows its big enough already.”

She laughed and punched him on the arm. Sam grinned, slinging his arm around the back of Lauren’s chair casually. This was his favourite part of the day, any day. Life finally, finally felt good to Sam. Lauren next to him, joking with his big brother across the table. Finally having a home, and someone to come home too.

Dean had been… resistant, at first, when Lauren asked to stay with them after a near miss with a demon – black eyes had tried to open her throat, and when she got away he took his anger out on her roommate instead. Sam would never forget the look on her face when he and his brother had found her barricaded in her bathroom – scared, of course, but underneath the fear was a fierceness and cold determination that almost took his breath away. She had somehow managed to pull the towel rack off the wall, and almost brained Dean when they got through the door. The brothers had had to stick around to tie up a few loose ends, and Sam had spent every single night at a corner table in the little Italian restaurant where she worked, completely entranced by the way Lauren moved and spoke and, god, even breathed. Her hair had been longer then, always tied back. Skin like alabaster and eyes a grey-blue that Sam was sure he could drown in. The first time he kissed her, outside that dingy little restaurant, her body fit so perfectly into his hands that he knew in that moment he was lost completely. When it was time for them to hit the road a few weeks later, Lauren asked if she could come – she had always wanted a purpose in life, something more than waiting tables for shitty tips. Sam had tried to change her mind, begged her even, but she had been so sure, so resolute. He had decided that once, just this once, the life he lived wouldn’t steal away another chance at happiness.

“Hey! Space cadet.” Lauren’s voice broke through Sam’s memory, and he met her shining eyes.

“Hmm? What?” He said, bending his arm at the elbow to play with her still damp hair.

“I was saying, I’m going to go to bed – If we actually have a bit of a break, I want to make the most of it tomorrow and do some cooking, so we have halfway decent meals in the freezer. I don’t think I can handle much more of Dean’s drive-through diet.”

“Hey, don’t knock the drive-through! How many times has it saved your ass, Hangry?”

Lauren’s laughter rang like a bell as she stood from the table. She stepped forward, pressed her lips to Sam’s in a quick goodnight and threw a cheerful salute in Dean’s direction before turning and disappearing down the hall. Dean chuckled.

“I’m glad you convinced me to let her tag along, Sammy.” He said as he poured himself another glass. “She’s good value.”

“Careful Dean, don’t let her hear you. She might think you actually like her.”

“Ah, shut it little brother. She knows.” He paused. “I’m serious though. You’ve been through so much shit, Sammy. First Jess… well, it’s great to see you so happy.”

“Thanks, Dean. I am. I actually am.”

A comfortable silence stretched between the two men. In truth, neither could remember being this content, well, ever. Secretly, Dean had always kinda wanted a little sister – and now, he almost did. He tapped his finger against the now empty glass in his hand and pushed back from the table, stretching his arms above his head.

“Imma get some sleep too. Night, Sam.”

“Night, Dean.”

****

Sam woke up to an aching wrist and an empty bed – Lauren was up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn most days, and even this rare day off wasn’t an exception. The clock on the bedside table told him it was a little before 9am, but he knew Lauren would already have at least four hours on him. She loved to sit outside the Bunker with a cup of coffee and watch the sun peek up over the trees. Sam yawned, stretched, and slipped out into the cool hallway – he stopped by the bathroom cabinet for much needed pain killers, and then on to the kitchen. There was a pot of coffee ready to go, and Lauren had already put a mug out for him with the exact amount of sugar he always had waiting at the bottom.

“Goooood morning!” Sam turned to see Lauren at the top of the stairs. She grinned and closed the gap between them, nestling her head against his shoulder. Lauren was tall, but his chin fit perfectly on top of her head when she hugged him just like this. “I love it when you’re all sleepy.” She murmured, breathing in his clean, warm scent. “you’re so snuggly.”

Sam laughed and wrapped his arms around her just a bit tighter. “Well, we could go back to bed…” he trailed a line of fire down Lauren’s back with his finger. She shivered and leaned back to look him in the eyes.

“Sam Winchester, I do believe you are trying to derail my plans of productivity.” She teased, a smile playing on her lips. Sam groaned and leaned in to steal a kiss, nipping lightly at her bottom lip.

“This is our one day to not be productive, Lozzie. Come back to bed with me.”

“You say that now, but you’ll feel differently in two weeks’ time when we’re eating MacDonald’s for the third day in a row. Besides,” She leaned in close, her breath fluttering by Sam’s ear. “I need to pick something up in town… something you will be very, _very_ glad I went out for.” She slipped her hand down Sam’s thigh, dangerously close, teasingly close. Sam groaned and kissed her hard, his hand tangling in her hair as he pressed her to him – her hands were everywhere, running over the planes of his chest, his back, in his hair. Finally they came up for air, smiles on their faces and breathing just a little raggedly.

“Go on,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and running his thumb lightly over her cheekbones. “the sooner you leave, the sooner I get you back.”

Lauren kissed his palm and stepped back – she grabbed the keys to their old pick up (no WAY was she allowed near Baby).

“I won’t be long, a couple of hours.” She looked back over her shoulder as she mounted the stairs. “love you, Sam. Always.”

He smiled. “Love you too. Always.”

If she were smarter, she would have climbed into that damn bed.


	2. The Other Shoe

As much as she loved the boys, it was nice to get away for a bit. They had been in each other’s pockets for months, and frankly, Lauren treasured her alone time – driving with the windows down, wind in her hair and music turned up just a little too loud. It felt like heaven. But, as she rolled to a stop outside the grocery store, Lauren felt a little twinge of disquiet in her stomach. Looking around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary – a dude walking his dog, a couple on a park bench, a few poor suited bastards waiting at the bus stop. She shook it off, putting it down to weeks running on adrenaline (and not much else), and swung out of the truck. Fishing around in her jacket, she pulled out the grocery list that had been growing over the past week and a half – scrawled at the bottom in Dean’s handwriting was one word, all caps: PIE. Lauren snorted, grabbed a trolley and took to the aisles, feeling almost normal as she crossed everything off of her list.

By the time she was finished loading the supplies into the pick-up it was nearing 11 and the crispness of the morning had turned into a steady heat. It was warm enough now that Lauren stripped off her jacket leaving her in a black tank top, comfy ripped boyfriend jeans and an old pair of beat up sneakers. She closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the sun, breathing deeply. A shadow fell across her and she opened her eyes with a slight frown, which deepened as she realised exactly who was standing in front of her. She staggered backwards and let out a strangled gasp as her back hit the car door.

“M-Max?”

“Hi, Lozzie.” The man in front of her was clean cut, tidy, his voice like honey– a voice that she thought she would never have to hear again.

“Don’t-Don’t call me that.” She was frozen. Goddamnit, why was she frozen? _Move!_ Her mind screamed at her. _Run! Shoot him! Do something._ But all she could do was stand there, pressed against her car door. “This isn’t happening.”

“Lozzie, I’ve missed you. I was so upset when you left me – even Angelo, at the restaurant couldn’t tell me were you went. They said you just disappeared. Up and left with some men, and I thought, no, not Lauren, not my Lauren.” He stepped forward, and Lauren could feel his breath on her face. “But it’s true. I thought you were in trouble, I thought you would have needed me. But I saw you. I saw you kissing him at that graveyard and God how could you do that to me? How could you do that Lozz-”

“Stop it!” Finally, her mouth caught up with her racing mind. “Max, I’m going to be really clear. There is nothing between us. You came to the restaurant. I served you. That is it. You broke into my home. you threatened me. I asked you to stay the fuck away from me. There is a piece of paper from the police telling you to stay the fuck away from me. So, stay. The fuck. Away.”

The slap caught Lauren by complete surprise. Her head jerked to the side, whip crack fast, and distantly she could hear herself thinking. _Strong. Wiry Max equals very strong._ And then suddenly there was a gun in her face.

“Enough! You belong to me Lozzie – we belong together and I’m going to prove it to you, you’ll see, I’ve tried to find you for three years and now that I have you, I am never letting you go. I promise, we’ll be together forever. It’s okay, you can trust me. You can, you can.”

That’s when she tried to run, and that’s when Max pistol whipped her so hard she blacked out and slid down the side of her car, blood dripping from the reopened cut on her hairline.

Yep. That other shoe is a bitch.

****

Sam looked up from his book as Dean stumbled into the kitchen.

“What time is it?” Dean asked through a yawn, fumbling for a mug. Sam looked at his watch.

“Uh, 1:30 and change.”

Dean glanced his way, noting the tension in his brother’s shoulders for the first time.

“You okay there, Sammy?” He asked, leaning back against the counter. Sam looked pained. He snapped the book shut and got to his feet.

“It’s…” Sam sighed. “Lauren, she said she’d be back in a couple of hours and it’s been, like, four. I just…” he shook his head. “I’m just being paranoid. Always need something to stress about, right?”

Dean felt cold. “let’s go for a drive, Sam.”

****

The sun was low in the sky when she finally woke up. She couldn’t quite bite back the moan that sprang from her throat as the pain slammed through her body like a freight train – first, her head, all over. Next, the harsh weight around her neck, the bite of cold metal. A collar? She realised then that she was on a bed. His bed. Just the thought of that was enough to make her stomach churn.

Lauren pushed the thought away. The coldness in her hands and feet clamoured for attention. They were tied, tightly. Too tightly. There wasn’t enough blood circulating. Max had heard her moan. He was there in an instant, brushing her hair back from her face, his watery blue eyes piercingly eager and far too close to her own.

“Max.” She said, her voice like sandpaper. “Untie me.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, tracing the lines of her jaw with a steady finger.

“I can’t, Lozzie, I can’t do that. You need to understand that you have to be with me. You have to stay with me. We’re meant for each other. I’m sorry, but I can’t trust you yet.”

“Max, please.” Lauren was surprised at how even her voice was. Sam would be proud. Oh God, don’t think about Sam. Not now. “it’s too tight. You’re going to damage my hands, my feet. You have to untie me.”

Max stood, pacing wildly. This wasn’t part of his plan, she realised. It wasn’t going to plan. Suddenly, he was down at her level again.

“Okay. I don’t want to hurt you, Lozzie.” She gritted her teeth at the nickname. “So, I’ll untie you. See? I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you. But you have to promise me that you won’t try to leave? Okay?” He grabbed her jaw just a bit too tightly and forced her to look him in the eye. “Okay?”

“Yes, Okay.” She breathed. He looked at her for another moment and then reached down for her left wrist, deftly untying the complicated knot. He moved fast and soon Lauren’s extremities prickled with pins and needles as the blood rushed back into her veins. She couldn’t help but notice that Max stood between her and the door, his hands clenched tightly into fists. He was tall, as tall as Sam. She had forgotten that. Tall, and skinny, but clearly brutally strong. His dark hair was close cropped, his face cleanshaven. But those eyes. It was like looking into a pit.

 _No._ She realised, dread a lead ball in her belly. _It’s like looking at hunger._

When she could feel her hands properly again, she reached up to feel the band around her neck. It was heavy, thick. There was what felt like a combination lock on the right side, and a loop on the left, unattached to anything. For now, at least. Lauren felt sick.

“Let me go, Max. My friends will be looking for me. You don’t want them to find you, trust me on that.”

“They aren’t your friends, Lauren! They stole you from me. I won’t let them do it again.” The venom in his voice is frightening.

“Max-” She starts. And he’s there, on top of her – She’s on her back, arms trapped between their chests. Max is squeezing her head, fingers digging in, hurting, as he tries to make her understand. Then, a moment of clarity: her legs are free.

The sharp jab of her knee between his legs was enough for Lauren to shove Max off and run – she found herself at the top of a flight of stairs, and there, at the bottom, was a door, light from the fading afternoon filtering in through its glass panels. Freedom. She bolted down the stairs and flew at the door – locked. She spun around, searching for alternate exits, and locked eyes with Max at the top of the stairs. Her blood ran cold.

Lauren had been a hunter for three years. Granted, not long enough for tenure, but still. She had seen some capital 'S' Shit. Vampire nests swarming with blood-drunk, rage-filled monsters ready to drain her dry. Demons with their chilling black eyes. Vengeful ghosts, Wendigos, Rakshasa’s. But none of that scared her, truly scared her, like the look in Max’s eyes that day as he stalked towards her down the stairs. Suddenly, the spell broke and Lauren had to make a snap decision – right or left?

It’s not important to note which direction she chose. Only that she chose wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of our boys in this one, sorry!


	3. Welcome to your life

“There.” Sam barked, pointing to the left of Main Street. The pick-up. Dean manoeuvred the Impala into the next parking spot over and had barely slowed to a halt before Sam was out of the car and halfway to the grocery store. Dean hung back – realistically, he knew that a couple of hours could turn into more at the drop of the hat. Rationally, he knew racing into town because his brother’s girlfriend was a couple of hours later than expected was… unnecessary? But Jesus, for the life of him Dean couldn’t shake the feeling, the bone deep ache that something was Very Not Right. Dean heaved himself out of the car and strode across to the pick-up. Cupping his hands to the window, he saw the groceries Lauren had bought in the back seat and… his stomach dropped. The keys in the ignition.

“She’s not in there, man.” Sam came out, anxiety rolling of him in waves. “I asked, and they hadn’t seen her since this morning.”

Dean’s mouth was set in a grim line. He was about to open his mouth when something caught his eye on the edge of the car door – oil? He crouched down and dragged his finger through it. It came back red. Dean met Sam’s eyes.

“We need to find her. Now.”

The brothers split up and went from store to store down Main Street – it only took about thirty minutes, but there was no sign of Lauren. One old guy at a café with his schnauzer mentioned seeing a couple having an argument but couldn’t remember what either one looked like. Sam had long since filled Lauren’s voicemail inbox with increasingly antsy messages, but still he pulled out his phone again, dialling her number from memory as his eyes roamed the small park in front of him.

Dial tone.

Ring once.

Ring twice.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Click. Dead.

Sam groaned in frustration, shoved his phone into his pocket and raked his hand through his hair. Panic was starting to rise like bile in his throat. He jogged back to the cars, hoping Dean had better luck. The defeated slump of his brother’s shoulders as he leaned against the Impala was all too plain, however.

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“Nada.” Dean pressed his lips into a hard line. “It’s like she up and vanished. I’d be inclined to call demon, but-”

“No sulphur. And if they wanted to use her as a bargaining chip, we would know by now.” Sam finished. It was still a possibility, but Lauren could hold her own against one demon, hell even a group of them – besides, in the middle of a public street, mid-morning? Someone should have seen something. Dean looked at his watch – 3:10. It had been almost six hours since Sam had seen Lauren. How the hell had they dropped the ball this badly? And over a fucking day off. They were Winchesters, damnit. Personal leave wasn’t in their contract.

“We have to do something, Dean. I can’t just wait this one out.”

Dean look up at his little brother – his face pinched, eyes frantic. He knew that Sam was already blaming himself for this, for letting her come to town alone, for not looking for her earlier. “Alright, let’s get back to the bunker. Leave her car here. Maybe she’ll make it back.” It was a hope, but a hope tinged with doubt – whatever had happened to her, Dean knew that Lauren would fight tooth and nail to get back to Sammy. If she hadn’t gotten away yet, well… Dean shook that thought from his head. No. Not this time. Not this one.

“We’re getting her back, you hear me? She’s going to come back.”

****

Lauren’s eyes fluttered open. It was full dark now. She wasn’t on the bed, no – the floor beneath her was cold, hard. Cement? _Basement_. She realised, memories flooding back.

Running from the front door, Max’s angry shouts at her back.

Tearing open the door on her right, panic threatening to overwhelm her at the sight of an empty storage closet.

Stumbling over to the door to her left, freedom so close she could almost taste it.

Hand almost on the doorknob, so close.

Max’s arm snaking around her waist and pulling her back, as unmoveable as a steel bar. Being thrown to the ground. His hands in her hair as he lifted her head and then slammed it back down, the back of her skull ringing against the floorboards. Once, twice, three times.

Lauren’s central vision was almost completely gone – she could only see around the edges and dully she thought it must be a pretty terrible concussion.

The hot fire in her head roared as Max clenched his fist in her hair and dragged her around to the other side of the house. From the corner of her eye Lauren saw stairs leading down, down down. She tried to struggle, but her body was boneless, legs refusing to get under her.

At the bottom of the stairs Max had tossed her to the ground as if she were nothing. Threading a chain through the loop in her collar, he looked into her hazy, unfocused eyes.

“You lied to me,” Lauren though he sounded hurt. “you said you wouldn’t try to leave.”

The world had gone dark for Lauren then. But now, eyes cracking open and head pounding – Jesus Christ it frigging hurts – her surroundings slowly swam into view. It was dark and cold down here, and there was almost nothing for her to work with. A chair in the far corner, a work bench to the right (completely devoid of anything useful, of course). And next to her, by the wall, a metal bucket.

 _Lovely_. She tried to stand, making it to her knees before the world swayed dangerously and she crashed down onto her stomach. The chain attached to the collar jerked harshly against her throat. Short leash.

“Fuuuuck.” She groaned. Okay, so. No standing. At least not right now. No standing meant definitely no running, which meant…

 _No Sam._ She thought. _Not yet._ She was sure the boys would know something was up by now – they had probably already found her car on Main Street and knowing them it was likely they had canvassed the area too. She had no idea how good Max was at covering his tracks, but…

If he hadn’t been lying? If he had been following her, looking for her for three years and none of them had a clue? Watching as they dug up god knows how many corpses… The fear that her boys wouldn’t find her became a real, almost tangible thing then.

Here’s the thing. hunting the supernatural was easier – there were omens, specific clues to look for. A stalker from three years earlier and two thousand miles away? Different story.

With a herculean effort, Lauren rolled into her back. Even that caused her vision to darken at the edges. Suddenly, the naked bulb above her head clicked on and she hissed at the bolt of pain that shot behind her eyes at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door creak open, Max’s heavy steps on the staircase.

“How are you feeling?” his voice was surprisingly soft as he approached her. Lauren had her eyes squeezed shut, her short blonde hair dark and sticky with blood.

“Like some jackass slammed my head into the ground, that’s how.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. _Stupid._ She thought. _Stupid stupid stupid._

“And who’s fault is that?” Max spat out, crouching over her. “Relationships can’t be built on lies, Lozzie. You can’t lie to me and think there won’t be any repercussions, can you now?” He brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek, and Lauren jerked her head away.

The regret was immediate and she stifled a cry as the flames in her skull were stoked.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you, baby.” Max said. To her surprise he flipped the numbers on the lock at her throat. The mechanism popped open and Max gently removed the collar, pulling her up and carrying her over to the chair.

“Stay there.” He ordered, before bounding up the stairs. For the first time since that morning she was alone and unencumbered. She knew there was no better moment for her to attempt escape – but the room was spinning like a top, and with the pain in her head she wasn’t sure she could even move a toe let alone her whole leg. So, Lauren sat. and waited.

An hour later the pain had abated – it was still there, a dull ache at the back of her head, but whatever pills he had forced down her throat had, admittedly, helped. He had cleaned the wound as best as he could, but even so there were still clumps of red streaking through her hair.

“What time is it?” She asked softly – they were seated across from each other at a small table in the kitchen, a plate of scrambled eggs sitting untouched and cooling in front of her. And the damned collar was back on.

Max looked at his watch, a big ugly thing that looked like it could outlast the end of times. “a little before 10.”

Lauren breathed in sharply. She had been gone for almost twelve hours. Sam would be panicking.

“So… what happens now, Max? What’s your plan?”

“Eat, Lozzie.”

“Please… don’t call me that.” She ground out. That was for Sammy and Dean, no one else. In truth, she had hated the nickname before the boys started using it. Now, coming out of Max’s mouth it sounded wrong. Perverted.

“You’re not in the position to ask me for anything. You broke the rules – I still need to decide on your punishment. Eat.”

Lauren shoved the plate away. “I’m not hungry.” It was a lie, but she was done with this situation. All she wanted, needed, was to get back to her home. Her family. She was a hunter, goddamnit. She could deal with a single human. She could see Max getting frustrated. His jaw was set, fist curled tightly around the chain that snaked across the table to Lauren’s collar. He clearly wasn’t one to make the same mistake twice.

“Why are you making this so difficult, Lauren? Can’t you see that all of this, the house, the furniture, all of it is for you. We could be happy here, together. But you won’t even try.”

Lauren leaned forward, snarling. “Listen fucker, I will never, ever be happy here. I will never stop trying to get the hell away from you, understand me?”

Max snarled back and jerked the chain, pulling Lauren from her seat sharply she found herself on her knees in front of him, his hand grasping her roughly by the chin.

“Such ugly language. You’re too good for that, Lozzie. I promise, we’ll fix it. Together.”

Another sharp jerk at her neck and she stumbled to her feet. Max led her across the hall and back down the stairs to the basement. She tried to fight him, locking her arms and her legs against the doorway, but all it took was a sharp tug from the chain and she tumbled forward, barely keeping her unsteady footing on the stairs.

Max pulled her over to the far wall and locked her chain to the ring embedded in the stone. He left her there, strolling almost nonchalantly over to the workbench – she hadn’t noticed earlier, but there was a small box tucked away in the corner. From it, the man pulled a pair of gleaming handcuffs.

Lauren fell into a defensive stance. “Keep those the hell away from me.” She warned. The collar was one thing, but at least she still had the use of her hands. A rueful smile played on Max’s lips.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you have to learn. This is how you can learn.” He approached her quickly, and after a brief scuffle (Lauren only landed a single punch, but damn it was satisfying to see the blood leak from his split lip) she found herself facing the wall, breathing in the earthy smell of the damp stone. Max used his body to keep her pressed there, his front to her back as he forced her arms above her head and cuffed her hands together.

“No!” she gasped out, panting as she struggled to gain any leverage she could. But it was like being caught between two slabs of marble. Max grunted and wrenched her arms up, forcing Lauren to stretch up in an effort to maintain her footing. He lifting the chain up and over a steeply curved hook high in the wall. Stepping back, her surveyed his work. The tips of her toes (shoes long since removed) just brushed the cement floor and her back was arched as she tried to lift the chain out of the hook, tank top riding up just a little. Max smiled.

****

It was a quarter to eleven at night and Sam was losing his goddamn mind. Dean was on the phone, had been since they got back to the bunker that afternoon. Sam knew his brother was calling in every favour he could to track Lauren down. Sam sat at the kitchen table, leg bouncing as he scrolled through the local news alerts, recent real estate sales, message boards, anything that would even hint at a lead on her location.

“Alright, thanks man. Let me know if you hear anything.” Dean snapped his phone shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sam looked at him, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

“What did Jimmy have to say?”

Dean cocked his head and swallowed. “Squat. He’s putting out some feelers in state and local police, though. Any luck?”

Sam shook his head, frustrated. “Nothing. If this was anyone else, we’d be halfway across the country by now – there is literally nothing to suggest any kind of supernatural activity.”

Dean was quiet for a beat. “Maybe it’s not supernatural, then. We always assume things happen to get to us… what if it’s about her?”

“Like, a human? An ordinary, what, abduction?” Sam was at a loss – Lauren had taken on much worse than humans in her time.

“People can be monsters too. We sure as hell know that.” Dean said darkly.

Sam considered that. It was true – the Benders, Gordon. But who would go after Lauren? She didn’t know anyone in the area. Unless-

His phone started to ring. Sam practically lunged at it, and felt his legs turn to jelly with relief when he saw Lauren’s caller ID pop up on the screen.

“Lauren? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Uh, hey…” the voice on the end of the line said uncertainly. “Um, no, my name’s Cindy. I found this phone off Archer Court? It was dead, but I just charged it up, and, um, I saw a bunch of missed called from your number?”

Despair washed over Sam, but he forced it down. He couldn’t just fall into pieces, not with Lauren's safety on the line.

“Yeah, it’s my-my girlfriend’s, do you know how it got there? Did you see a girl, maybe? Short blonde hair, tall, blue eyes, pale skin?”

“Um, no, sorry. Just the phone. Do you want to pick it up, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s the address?”

Sam reached down and scribbled it on a scrap of paper. “Can I come now?”

“Oh, uh, it’s pretty late. Sorry, maybe I should have called in the morning.”

“Please, I’ll be quick. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. The drive into town took at least twenty-five.

“Uh, okay.” Cindy sounded reluctant.

“Great. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up, and locked eyes with his brother. “I’m driving.”

For once, Dean didn’t argue.

****

When Max was a kid, whenever he was bad he would get the belt from his dad – a few hits with the leather, nothing more, but it was enough to remind him of his place. He hoped it would help his Lozzie the same way.

Lauren heard him unbuckling his belt as he explained the punishment. She strained her neck to try and catch a glimpse of him, ignoring the pain in her skull and the burn in her shoulders as her toes scrabbled for purchase.

“But Lauren, you’re an adult. You know better than to be a bad. And you’ve disobeyed me twice now. And punching me? Lozzie, violence isn’t becoming of a lady.” He was close now, his breath raising the hairs on the back of her neck. His hand slipped around her waist and pressed on her stomach, pushing her back into his chest. Her shoulder screamed at the strain. Her breathing came in short, sharp bursts. He nuzzled her neck and stepped back, releasing her. Disgust curled in her stomach.  
“Count for me.”

Lauren frowned. “Huh?” and then she understood. The crack of the belt buckle across her shoulders was like a spatter of molten iron – white hot and sharp. She felt the itch of blood seeping down her shoulder blades. But she didn’t scream. The bastard wouldn’t get the satisfaction.

“Count, Lozzie.”

“Go to hell.” She spat, tensing for the next blow. It came, and she arched her back away, head thrown back and gasping.

“Count!”

This time she just gritted her teeth and shook her head. They came hard and fast after that – an expression of pure rage. Max’s grunts as he whipped her and the sick thwack of the buckle tearing her flesh had been the only sound for what felt like hours, but Lauren kept her promise to herself. She didn’t count. And she sure as hell didn’t scream.

Finally, either Max grew tired or worried he was going to kill her and stopped. His ragged panting filled the basement as the belt fell to the ground.

“Good night, Lauren. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Her head jerked up as she heard his climb the stairs – she thought for sure he would at least let her down. Her wrists had long since turned to hamburger, and the agony of her back was only rivalled by the renewed pounding in her head. The light above her blinked out, and it was only after a few heart beats when she was sure he wasn’t coming back that she let the sobs escape. _I’m still alive._ She thought desperately. _And that means Sam and Dean will come for me. They always will._ She tried to slow her breathing, hiccupping. _And I won’t stop fighting to get back to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it so far! stay tuned!


	4. Tick-tock goes the clock

It had been 79 hours since Sam had last seen Lauren. He had been awake for every single torturous second. Dean stopped trying to get him to sleep after the first 36. Jimmy from the state police had come up with nothing, and one by one all of Dean’s other contacts came up empty as well. The phone they got from Cindy had been a dead end, so Sam had spent the day going door to door with her photo, a depressingly outdated selfie she had taken of the two of them on the bonnet of the Impala. He stared at it now, terrified that he would never see that smile again. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. How could he have dragged her into this life? Of course, it would end badly. It always did. First Jess, Madison… his presence in their lives was poison. He was a fool to think it would have been different with Lauren. It just took longer to come into effect.

Dean woke with a start as the door to the bunker creaked open. He had taken to sleeping on the couch, closer to the entrance in case… well. In case. He looked up as Sam came down the stairs, a wave of guilt washing over him. His brother looked like hell. The circles under his eyes, the scruff on his jaw. He had barely eaten since Lauren had disappeared, and it was a miracle he hadn’t dropped dead from exhaustion. And here Dean was, having a nap like a child.

“How’d you go, Sammy?” Dean asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Sam looked at him and lowered his head. “Nothing. Again.” He lashed out and kicked the closest chair to him – it spun away and clattered against the wall.

“Fucking nothing!” He raged, tugging his hair back from his face. “This is my fault, Dean! Jesus Christ, If I can’t even protect her what the hell am I doing? Huh?” tears were welling in his eyes, and Dean stood slowly, concern written plainly across his face.

“Sammy, you are no use to Lauren like this.” Brutal, but sometimes brutal was necessary. “Look at yourself – you’re a mess. You stink. You barely eat, you haven’t slept in days – your damn body is going to shut down if you’re not careful.”

“don’t tell me to take care of myself, Dean.” Sam growled, pacing across the room. “Lauren is the only priority right now. I’ll sleep when I find her.”

“And what happens then, huh? You keep running yourself into the ground, Sammy, and you will be worse than useless to her. Right now, you’re a liability.”

Sam took a step towards him, furious, and then stopped. The fight went out of him as he reluctantly came to terms with what his older brother had said. Dean wasn’t wrong. Sam had almost run off the road a couple of times on the way back to the Bunker – it was a battle just to keep his eyes open.

“Okay. I’ll sleep – but only a few hours, okay?”

Dean put his hands up, agreeable.

“I’m serious Dean, wake me up in three hours.”

“Alright, man.”

Sam gave him one last long look before turning down the hall.

“And dude?” Dean called out after him. “Have a shower. Seriously, you reek.”

Sam complied. The water was amazing, he couldn’t lie – he felt almost renewed as the flow washed away the grime that had built up over the last three days. He stepped out of the shower, towelled off and staggered across the hall to his room. Now that he had stopped, the exhaustion pressed on him so heavily he was almost shaking. He collapsed onto the bed, and as he slipped off to sleep he sent out one last promise: _three hours, Lozzie. And then I’m coming for you._

****

After that first night, she had managed to fall into a fitful sleep despite the pain. She had awoken around midmorning to Max pouring a bottle of vodka over her back. She had screamed then – she couldn’t help it. Max had lifted her from the hook and laid her, stomach down, on the floor. She almost sobbed with joy at being horizontal but choked it back. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life, and the feeling doubled when she saw the belt in Max’s hand. He smiled at her whimper and patted her cheek.

“Do you get it now, Lozzie?”

“Get what, asshole?” She asked through clenched teeth. That earned her a swift kick to the ribs and she cried out, struggling to force air into her lungs.

“Language.” Max crouched down next to her. “This is your life now. Your home. With me. I know you’ve had a… frightening few years, but as long as you follow my rules, you’ll be happier here. Eventually. Please don’t make me beat them into you.”

The thought of another whipping made her feel weak. That last kick had definitely cracked something, and the thought of just lifting her arms above her head was dizzying. It had been at least twenty-four hours, probably more, since she had last eaten or had anything to drink. That, on top of the concussion and the blood loss pulled up a memory from one of the first hunts she had taken point on with Sam – an utter shitshow.

A wraith had completely blindsided her and was a second away from turning her brain to jerky before Sam had found her – bruised, arm broken and bleeding. The wraith barely got away, and Lauren had been determined to go after it. Sam had held her back. His words rang in her mind as if she had heard them yesterday.

_“Right now, you’re on the losing side – you’re injured, tired. Stepping back doesn’t mean giving up. It means giving yourself a chance to come back stronger.”_

As much as she hated it, she had to play it smart. There was no way she was getting out of here while she was chained to the basement wall. And she had to at least be alive and capable if Sam came for her. _When. Not if, when._ Lauren let out a shaky breath and forced herself to meet Max’s eyes.

“You win.”

****

Sam jolted awake, Lauren’s name on his lips and her screams in his ears.

“Woah, hey there.” Dean jerked upright, stepping back. “Three hours, like I promised.”

Sam looked around, rubbing his face. The sight of the crumpled sheets on her side of the bed, and the scent of her shampoo clinging to the pillows made his heart ache so sharply he thought it could rip in two.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked, studying his face.

“how am I feeling?” Sam scoffed, swinging his long legs off the bed and rising to his feet. “I’m feeling like we’ve wasted three hours that Lauren could have been found in. Dean, she could be suffering! She could be-” he bit back the word, stretching his neck to the side till he felt something pop.

“Dead?” Dean walked forward, squaring up to his little brother and staring him in the eye. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. It’s not up for debate. We will find her. We will find her, alive. You hear me?”

Sam nodded, shame colouring his ears red. “I hear you.” Dean’s phone started to ring.

“Hey, Jimmy. What have you got?” Dean looked down, then back up at Sam, his eyes charged. “Great Jimmy, thanks. No, man, it’s something. Thank you.”

“What?” Sam asked, shifting anxiously. “Dean, what is it?” Dean was already making his way down the hall, and Sam hurried to catch up.

“Did Loz ever tell you about a Maxwell Flint?”

“Yeah, some guy back in Georgia – he came into the restaurant all the time. Had a crush on her.” Sam paused. “Jimmy thinks this is him?”

“Jimmy doesn’t have a clue. But he found out that Maxwell didn’t just have a crush – he’s a certified stalker, with a break in record and restraining order to prove it. Lauren seriously didn’t tell you any of this?”

The two men strode into the kitchen, Dean sliding into the chair in front of the laptop. Within moments he’d pulled up his emails, where a PDF from Jim.green.32 was waiting in his inbox. The mugshot of a dark-haired, blue-eyed, investment banker type guy popped up.

Sam’s face went flat. Dean glanced in his direction and then did a double take. He knew that look. “You know him?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, eyes locked on Max’s photo. “I know him.”

_Lauren had just finished up her shift and had slid into the chair opposite Sam. Reaching over, she had stolen a bite of his carbonara, a cheeky smile on her face. Sam opened his mouth to say something when a man appeared behind Lauren, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around in her chair. He was angry, spouting some shit about needing to speak to her. Lauren tried to hide the tremor in her hand after that, but Sam pushed for details. She shrugged it off, admitting only that he was a customer with a crush called Maxwell Flint. The look in her eyes had told Sam to drop it, so he had._

“He was stalking her?”

Dean nodded grimly, eyes scanning the police report. “Says here he broke into her apartment three times – twice to leave gifts for her, and the third he was there waiting. She was lucky though. Police were right around the corner.” Dean scrolled farther and slammed his hand against the table. “No current listed address.”

Sam set his jaw with determination. “It’s a start.”

****

82 hours. Lauren had done the math. It had been 82 friggin’ hours since she had been taken and she was no closer to getting herself out of this damn mess. At least she was alone. For now, anyway. After she had relented, down in the basement, Max had brought her up to his bedroom “So she would be comfortable”. He even let her shower, though he was in the bathroom the whole time. She could feel his eyes on her as the blood sluiced down her body and disappeared down the drain. The patter of the water on her mangled back was excruciating, but she was clean. It was a start.

It had taken all her strength not the scream when he handed her the towel, leading her back to the bedroom by the chain attached to her collar. After fixing the chain securely, he had leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to her forehead. Lauren thought she deserved a damn medal for not throwing up right there. He had brought her a bottle of water and told her to get some sleep, and despite herself she had. She had woken to the sun burning orange low in the window, and Max watching her hungrily from the doorway. He had cleaned her jeans, though still bloodstained, and offered her one of his shirts. Having been in a wet towel for hours she took it hesitantly, pulling it quickly over her head and ignoring the pain as it dragged down over her back. It came to the stop just at the tops of her thighs. He didn’t give her the jeans or underwear. He had told her it was six in the evening and asked how she had slept, even teasing that she had slept the day away. It felt surreal chatting with him about such normal stuff while she sat there covered in cuts and bruises and chained to the wall like a dog. But still, he acted like it was just an average evening.

He had gone then, and she could hear him downstairs doing who knows what.

Now, an hour and a half later, she paused, straining to hear for the movement downstairs – there. Whatever he was doing, it was still keeping him occupied. She returned to her touch examination of the lock at her throat – three wheels, ten numbers on each. That meant thousands of possible combinations. She sighed. What she needed was a damn bolt cutter.

“What are you doing?” Max was standing in the doorway, a tray in hand. Laurens mouth went dry.

“Um, it was poking me, I was just trying to get it out of the way.” She made a show of adjusting the lock, and then forced a smile. “What’s that?”

“Your favourite.” Max moved forward and placed the tray on the bed. There was a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup, ringed with sour cream and sprinkled with chives. She couldn’t lie. It smelled amazing. But there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that it was going anywhere near her mouth.

“Th-thank you, but…”

“But what?” Max’s face darkened. “I made this for you. You have to be hungry.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can eat anything right now.” Her voice trembled, and she was furious with herself. _Get it together, Lauren_. _You’ve seen much worse than this - you can handle it._

Max was still. Then, in a fit of rage, he sent the tray crashing to the floor. Lauren leapt back as far as her leash would allow. She suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, standing there in a too short t-shirt with nowhere to go.

“I’m trying to take care of you Lozzie. Why can’t you understand that?. You ungrateful little bitch.”

He stalked forward and grabbed her collar, pulling her in until their noses were almost touching. Lauren’s heart was racing, and she held her breath. “I’m sorry.” She blurted out, her face burning. “I’m sorry.”

Max smiled. “oh, baby, it’s okay. You’ve had a rough few days.” He lifted her face to his and kissed her then, and Jesus this was so wrong. S _am, this should be Sam._ She squeezed her eyes shut, a hot tear trailing from the corner of each. But Lauren did nothing to stop it – she clenched her fists at his sides and hated herself for letting it happen, but she did nothing. After too long, Max pulled back and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, pulling it downward. Lauren ground out what she hoped resembled a smile as Max stepped back, saying something about getting a mop. Her smile grew wider once he left the room. She looked down at the ring of keys she had lifted from his jacket pocket, a plan beginning to form in her mind.

****

Sam had taken over on the laptop, fingers flying as he tried to track down any possible locations that Max could be found. He felt in his gut that if they could find him, they would find Lauren. And hopefully, he hadn’t hurt her. But it had been over three days and unless Lauren had been able to convince Max that she wanted exactly what he did… well, Sam didn’t want to think about that. Maxwell Flint wasn’t a hugely common name, but there were still enough scattered across the US that it finding the right one was like trying to track down a needle in a haystack. So, Sam flexed his fingers and tried to narrow it down to places that could be reached in three days, hoping against hope that he hadn’t just shot himself in the foot by eliminating towns and cities further out. There were 49 Maxwells in the area he chose.

 _Better than hundreds._ Sam thought to himself. _I’m coming Lauren. Hold on._

****

Lauren was trying not to breathe. She was on her side in Max’s bed, his arms wrapped around her and his warm body curving firmly against her back, his even, sleep-slowed breathing against the top of her head. When he climbed into the bed after watching her clean up the soup and shards of the bowl, her stomach had sunk and she had clenched her hand so tightly around the keys in her hand that she was sure blood would come leaking from her fist at any moment. He had stared at her as she stood by the bed, the chain locked to the sturdy headboard by a heavy padlock ensuring that she couldn’t get far from him anyway. He cocked his head and pulled back the covers, patting the bed. Slowly, so slowly, she crawled onto the bed, keeping her eyes locked on Max and keeping as far from him as possible.

“You’re nervous.” He said, eyes raking over her. “Don’t be, Lozzie.” He reached over and put his hand on her knee. “turn around. Lie down.”

With her gut screaming at her to throw a punch and unlock the padlock, to take the chance and bolt from the house before a line was crossed that she couldn’t come back from, Lauren did as she was told. She lay there staring at the wall, rigid and still, as she heard Max unzip his jeans and drop them to the floor. Hot tears sprang to Lauren’s eyes, but as he climbed into the bed and pulled her to him relief washed over her as his boxers brushed against the backs of her thighs. He kissed her neck, breathing in her scent.

“Good night Lozzie.”

And that was it. He he had lain there, pressing kisses to the back of her neck for what felt like hours, leaving Lauren trapped against his chest with one of his ankles between her calves and his right hand drawing lazy circles around the bruises blooming on her stomach. The shirt he had given her covered nothing but her chest and the tops of her ribs now, and if it wasn’t for the woollen blanket over her legs she would have been shivering. After an age the kisses stopped – another millennia and his hand stilled. It was a century before Lauren felt safe enough to slowly lift his arm off her body, detangling their legs and slipping from the bed.

As quietly as she could, adrenaline thrumming an almost painful beat in every nerve, she tried key after key on the padlock securing the two ends of the chain looped through the ring on her collar around the solid headboard. She couldn’t wait to be free of the damn thing, but the rational voice in her head told her she would need help if she had any hope of removing the heavy metal band Every clink was deafening in her ears, and with every sound her eyes shot to Max, breath caught in her throat until she was sure the steady rise and fall of his chest hadn’t shifted. She was tempted to just press a pillow over his face and hold it there until the fucker died, but the fear that he would wake and overpower her left her knees weak. Trying and failing to kill him would incur a wrath she hadn’t yet seen, she was sure.

There was a soft click, and Lauren looked down to see the padlock open. She nearly sobbed with joy but swallowed it down and forced herself to move as silently as possible. She was so close – she couldn’t drop the ball now. With excruciating deliberateness, she threaded the chain inch by inch from the ring in the collar, laying it out delicately on the bed so it wouldn’t clatter against the floor. Finally, the last link in the chain slipped free. Stepping back, eyes locked on the still sleeping form in the bed, Lauren crouched, breath barely a whisper on her lips, and lifted her jeans from where they lay folded on the floor. She pulled them up over her hips and buttoned them, grateful to be covered again. She took another step back and pivoted towards the door. Two more steps and she would be in the hall, on the way to freedom. As she lifted her foot to take another careful step, she heard Max shift on the bed and she jerked her head back, staring at him wide eyed.

She didn’t watch where she put her foot, and barely stifled a gasp as a stray piece of the broken bowl lodged itself in the ball of her foot, blood already welling around the wound. Unbalanced, Lauren threw her hand out and grasped at the door frame to steady herself. It happened fast, and it wasn’t loud, but the thump of her flesh against the wood was enough. Max’s eyes shot open, the daze of waking quickly hardening into fury.

“You stole my keys.”

Lauren only managed to rip the door open and let out a scream before she was dragged backwards and thrown on the bed.


	5. Hell is a farmhouse in Kansas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning, this chapter gets nasty - this is where the the violence and rape tags REALLY come into action, so please be aware!

Max raged as he threw Lauren onto the bed, the keys flying from her grasp and skittering out of sight into the hallway. Lauren scrabbled for something, _anything_ to defend herself with as her captor bore down on her – fury emanating from every fibre of his being. Finally, her hand found the chain she had left behind and without a second thought she swung it at his head as hard as she could, the metal slice through the air. Max dodged out of the way and yanked the chain from her hand, doubled it up so it swung in a loop just below his knee. And then the blows rained down, and Lauren screamed, desperately trying to claw her way across the bed away from the brutal bite of the metal. Max grabbed her ankle, twisted her cruelly onto her back and smashed the chain across her face, once, twice.

He stood over her, the chain a bloody pile at his feet. The shirt he had given her was stained with blood and bunched up under her breasts. He smiled grimly at the flutter of her bruised stomach as she moaned in pain.

“You bitch,” he growled, the blood roaring in his ears. “You ungrateful, selfish little slut. You think you can get away with this, this disrespect? Huh? I was trying to be patient with you Lozzie, but I’m done. You’re mine, you hear me? And I’m going to make sure you fucking know it.” He launched himself onto the bed, swatting away Lauren’s punches like they were gnats. Straddling her waist, he clamped her legs between his, suppressing any chance of a swift kick. He gathered her wrists together and slammed them into the pillows as she struggled against him.

“No!” she gasped. “Get the fuck off me, you bastard, let me go.” He grinned above her and before Lauren could stop him his lips were on hers, sucking and biting greedily. He forced his tongue into her mouth and without thinking she bit down, hard. He lurched back with a shout, blood dripping from his mouth. He spat at out to the side and cracked a bloody smile at her.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He backhanded her, hard – Lauren ears rang and she choked down a cry of pain, struggling uselessly against the weight of him on her legs. Keeping her arms locked together in one hand, he reached under the bed and pulled out a coil of harsh looking rope. Lauren’s eyes widened in terror.

“Please,” She begged breathlessly, eyes flicking between the rope and Max’s pitiless gaze. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.” He ignored her as he bound her wrists together, so tight it burned, and knotted the end of the rope to the headboard. Lauren’s shoulders were rotated back and up awkwardly, and she could already feel the ache of muscle strain in the joints. He leaned back, that sick smile still splitting his face in two.

Lauren couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. The room became eerily still – Lauren was panting, her heart galloping, utterly helpless. Slowly, Max leaned down, his hands trailing from her wrists, down her arms, tracing the lines of her throat, testing the dip by her collarbones. His face was inches from hers, his fetid breath clouding her senses. Then, with a startling ripping noise, he fisted the neck of her shirt in both hands and tore it apart. He fell on her naked breasts like a man possessed, biting her nipples cruelly, squeezing them, twisting then between his fingers until she scream at him to stop. Tears tracked through the blood on Lauren face as she threw her dignity to the wind, bucking under Max as she pleaded with him to leave her alone. She cried out for Sam once, and Max snapped his head up, snarling, her abused breasts forgotten.

“You are never going to see him again, you hear me? Where the hell is he, huh? If he cared about you he would have been here by now.” Lauren shook her head, refusing to let his words affect her. “Your Sammy knows you’re nothing but a filthy whore. In fact, I bet the bastard would thank me for getting you out of his way.”

 _No!_ She wanted to scream, to tear him apart for even thinking that. _Not Sam._

“Don’t you say his name.” She spat, but her fury turned to terror again as she felt his hands between her legs, yanking her jeans down over her ass, past her knees and down her legs until they were in a crumbled pile at the bottom of the bed. Lauren gritted her teeth and squeezed her legs shut, writhing away from his touch. Max caught her under her right thigh and forced her knees apart, shuffling forward to press his knee into the soft flesh of her thigh, trapping her leg against the bed. He held her left leg down in an iron grip and all she could do was arch her back away from him, twisting and pulling as much as she could.

Max waited for her to tire herself out and, finally realising she was well and truly caught, Lauren fell still, her breaths coming short and sharp. His fingers grazed a pattern up the inside of her thigh, curving up around her hip bone, across her stomach, her belly trembling under his touch.

“Max, stop it. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Just, _please, don’t do this._ ” Max ignored her and lowered his head to inhale her scent. His teeth ground together, and he let out a strangled sigh. And then his fingers where inside her, and _oh god it HURT and why was this happening and fuck it was never like this with Sam and- jesus, fuck._

Max forced another finger in, three now, relentless. He seemed disappointed at the lack of moisture between her legs and spat on her slit, rubbing it for a moment before plunging his fingers back inside her. Lauren squeezed her eyes shut. _Sam, oh god, Sammy I’m so sorry. I tried, Sammy, I tried to stop him. Holy fuck it hurts._

Max’s mouth was on her neck, his wet fingers trailing over her cheek. Lauren could smell herself on them and almost retched. “Relax,” he whispered. “This could be good for you too, you know. God, Lauren, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” There was something else between her legs now, hot and thick and insistent. She began to struggle again, but her wriggling beneath Max, her choked sobs as she tried to push him off of her only earned her a snort of laughter. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, Max let out a guttural grunt as he thrust his hips forward, his length sliding into her in one excruciating plunge. Lauren gasped, the feeling of being torn apart clenching her vocal cords in a tight bunch, forcing her into silence as she struggled to breathe. Slowly, with a moan, Max pulled back before slamming his hips forward again, his groans of pleasure almost drowning out Lauren’s broken sobs. His rhythm was brutal as he pounded into her, the hunger in his eyes unleashed as he bit down on her breast. Lauren was sure he had broken the skin.

“God -,” he ground out, moving his hips faster and faster, bottoming out on every thrust. “you’re so fucking tight, Lozzie. So hot. Jesus, you’re gonna make me come.”

Lauren found her voice then. “Max, pl-please – unghh, _fucking hell_ – stop. S-stop it! Get off me!”

Max ignored her, his face growing red with exertion. Suddenly he let out a strangled growl and plunged into her for a final time. She felt him release, felt his cock twitch and soften inside her as she sobbed. Max collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged. They stayed like that for a long time, his seed leaking between her thighs.

Eventually he rolled away and disappeared into the hall. Lauren heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs, the sound of the fridge opening and closing, and then the _crack-hiss_ of a beer can opening. Lauren’s stomach was churning, and she forced the bile rising in her throat back down. Shame permeated every cell of her body, and she hissed in pain as she twisted onto her side, drawing her legs up as close to her chest as she could.

 _Okay, Lauren._ She thought to herself, struggling through the haze of fear, pain, exhaustion that clouded her mind. _You have three minutes. Three minutes to fall apart. And then you are locking your shit down and getting the fuck out of this hellhole._

He came back to her twice more. The first, stinking of beer, he had taken her roughly again, shoving a pillow over her face when she screamed too loudly, only stopping when he realised she had passed out. Furious, he had finished over her, spattering her belly with ropes of white.

The second time was close to dawn. She moaned incoherently as his shadow fell across her, and when his hand tangled in her hair she barely had the energy to pull away. Her eyes, heavily lidded and glittering with tears, cracked open and she met his eyes with a pleading look.

“M-Max…”she whispered, her voice low, keening. “Please untie me. I won’t try to run, I promise. I just… m-my shoulders.” Her chin trembled.

Max sighed. “Not your wrists. You haven’t earned that yet.” But he undid the knot by the headboard. The rope unravelled and Lauren cried out as her arms dropped to the bed. Immediately she curled into a ball on her side, trying desperately to regain control of her shuddering breaths. Her shoulders burned after having been trapped in one position too long. She felt the mattress dip behind her as Max climbed onto the bed, and any control she had evaporated.

“Shhhh,” he murmured in her ear, drawing her in close. She could feel his dick against the base of her spine, nauseatingly hard. Sticky. She choked back tears. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good, Lozzie.” He slipped a hand down between her legs, gentler this time, slower. She tensed and tried to move away, but Max’s arm caged her in, holding her against him. He dipped his fingers into her, and hating herself, Lauren moaned.

“That’s it, my beautiful girl. See how easy it can be?” Lauren tried to turn towards him, and though he resisted her movement at first, he let her rotate around to face him, their breath mingling. Lauren’s bound wrists, raw and bleeding, where all that lay between them.

“You’re right,” she whispered as his fingers trailed up and down her arm. “It was easy.” Lauren burst into action. Bucking Max away from her, he flipped over onto his stomach, stunned for a precious second. It was all Lauren needed. Ignoring the pain, she caught up the length of rope dangling from her wrists and looped it once, twice around Max’s neck and pulled. Straddling him, she bore the brunt of his flailing limbs as he strangled. Lauren dug deep for her last remaining strength, arms shaking with the strain of choking the life out of her abuser. Quickly, his movements slowed, his grunts weakened, and then they stopped altogether. Lauren tugged the rope free and crawled from the bed, half stepping, half crumbling to the floor. Her eyes wanted desperately to close, to sink into blessed oblivion, but she forced herself up again. She grabbed her jeans and dragged them up over her legs again. Biting her lip to keep from screaming as the denim rubbed against her brutalised flesh, Lauren staggered from the bedroom. She spotted the keys she had flung away resting against the far wall. She scooped them up, hissing at the pressure it put on her cracked ribs, and began her agonisingly slow descent down the stairs. The sky was just starting to turn grey, stars fading from view as Lauren stumbled out into the crisp pre-dawn air. She turned to face her prison for the first time – a blue weatherboard house, nice, actually, with acres of land surrounding it – the kind she used to dream about owning when she was young. She turned her back on it. Max’s car was there, meters away. Lauren found herself moving forward, fingers fumbling for the car key as she hauled herself into the sedan. She rested her head against the steering wheel and inserted the key, letting out a quiet cry of relief as the car rumbled to life. She had no idea where she was, but it didn’t matter - she was going home. _I’m coming, Sam._

****

Sam drummed his long fingers on the table as he waited for the results from his search to load. It had taken a long time, too long, but he had narrowed it down to three possibilities. Now, searching for the street view of each home owned by or associated with a Maxwell Flint, his laptop was taking forever. Finally, the rainbow wheel stopped spinning and the first image appeared – an apartment block that Sam quickly dismissed. It was the second one that made his heart start pounding. An old farmhouse, forty miles out of town. That’s what he would choose.

“Dean!” he shouted for his brother, scribbling the address down and shoving his seat back. Dean was at his side in seconds. “I’ve got him.”

The men were up the stairs in a heartbeat. Hauling the door open, the rising sun seared Sam’s eyes and he squinted, throwing a hand up to shade his face. The brothers raced towards baby, and Sam had barely opened his door when Dean let out a warning shout.

A black sedan was climbing the hill towards them – Sam cursed. No one came up this road. Every bone in his body ached to get to that house. Instead, he slowly pulled his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, flicking off the safety. A glance at Dean told him he was just as cautious. The black car sprayed gravel as it screeched to a stop, blocking the road. Sam raised his gun as the door opened.

****

Lauren tumbled from the sedan and was running across the dirt, the tatters of her shirt flapping behind her, before Sam even registered what has happening. She slammed into him and he dropped his gun, a choked cry of disbelief caught in his throat. He wrapped his arms around her, half believing it had to be a dream. Her strangled scream as he hugged her forced him back into reality and she slipped from his grasp, falling to her knees. It was then that he realised her hands were bound – how she had managed to drive, let alone escape, was beyond him. Shaking, he whipped out his pocketknife and sawed her hands free. Dean had already shrugged off his jacket as he rounded the car, wrapping it around Lauren’s half naked frame. She looked up at Sam, her face a swollen mess of blood and angry bruises. His eyes dropped to the collar around her neck and his blood began to boil.

“Dean, bolt cutters.” Sam said through clenched teeth. His eyes flicked up to meet his brothers, the rage in his eyes shocking even for Dean to witness. “Now.” Without a word Dean jogged back to the bunker and disappeared down the stairs.

Sam helped Lauren to her feet, unsure where to put his hands. “God, Lauren, I was so scared you-” he started, but Lauren shushed him.

“Don’t. I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.” She started to cry, great shuddering sobs that broke Sam’s heart. He guided her gently into the bunker, and when she stumbled at the top of the stairs he lifted her up into his arms without a thought. She buried her face into his shoulder, rigid with pain. He mumbled apologies the whole way down, and as he turned to take her to their bedroom Lauren wriggled free, dropping in a heap to the floor.

“Not the bedroom,” She said weakly. “Kitchen.”

There was no way in hell Sam was going to argue with her. He helped her into the kitchen and she dropped onto a chair, sagging forward. Dean appeared moments later, bolt cutters in hand. When he saw the collar padlocked around Lauren’s neck his entire body tightened. At the sight of the tool Lauren stood up.

“Get it off me, get the fucking thing off.” Dean lined up the blades with the padlock loop and snapped the handles shut, the broken lock tumbling to the ground. Lauren wrenched the collar apart and threw it across the room, stumbling backwards into the table. She calmed down almost immediately, her sobs turning to sniffles as she hugged Dean’s jacket tight around her. Sam approached slowly, worry etched into every line on his face.

“Loz?” He asked, stepping closer. She looked up, tears streaking through the blood on her face.

“I need a shower.” She said shakily, reaching out an unsteady hand to press against Sam’s chest, as if to prove to herself that he was, in fact, real. “And a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She made it back! finally!
> 
> Because I'm absolutely shameless and a glutton for attention, please let me know what you think! is it worth continuing??


	6. Stitches can't solve everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around this long! let me know what you think in the comments!

Sam paced back and forth in front of the closed bathroom door, listening to the muffled sound of the water. The remnants of Lauren’s bloody handprint dried on his t-shirt. She had stared at her hand on his chest, digging her fingers into his shirt and bunching it in her fist. Her breathing steadied, falling into step with the pounding of Sam’s heart as she centred herself.

“I’m safe…” she had whispered, gaze locked on her hand. Sam hurt to hear how much of a question that was, and he lifted his hands to cover hers, flattening her fist against his heart.

“You’re safe.” He confirmed, voice low, husky with emotion. “You’re home.”

Lauren had smiled then, a delicate, bloody thing. They stayed like that for a few moments before Dean coughed.

“I’m sorry, but, uh, Loz-”

Lauren snapped her head to the side, eyes searching wildly for Dean.

“Don’t-” she choked out, “don’t say that. Please, d-don’t call me that.” Max had ruined that nickname for her, like he had ruined so much.

Dean nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… but I need to ask you if the person who did this too you can follow you back here.”

Lauren heaved a deep, shuddering sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. “I need to get clean.” She stumbled over her words, eyes glassy.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Sam released her hand and shot a look over her head to his brother that warned _not now._ Lauren limped her way to the bathroom, then paused and turned back to look at them.

“His name was Max,” she said, “I killed him.”

****

Lauren had long since stopped scrubbing at her skin – it was red raw where it wasn’t mottled with bruises, welts and gashes. She couldn’t clean away the filth Max had left her with, anyway. Instead, she sat huddled under the punishing heat of the shower, knees drawn up under her chin, body aching. She stared vacantly at the water gurgling down the drain, and only woke from her reverie at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door and the creak as it swung open a fraction. _Not him._ She reminded herself, breathing deep. _Not Max._ Sam’s voice rippled across her mind. “ _You’re safe,” he had said. “You’re home.”_

“Lauren? Sorry, but I just wanted to check on you.” Lauren felt Sam step into the bathroom. She kept her back to him – he was going to see it eventually, and she couldn’t care for those injuries herself anyway. “You’ve been in here a whi-” Sam cut himself off and she heard his low hiss as he took in the ruin that was her back.

“It’s okay.” She said, voice flat. “Can you, um, can you turn the water off? Sam?”

He tore his eyes away from her back to see Lauren looking back over her naked shoulder at him. He moved forward, pushing his sleeve up as he reached for the faucet. He knelt by the tub as the water stopped. Sam’s face was pale, jaw set as he took in her surface injuries.

“what did he do to you?” He asked, softly. Lauren Looked up, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. She shook her head, wordlessly.

 _He knows!_ A maliciously gleeful voice whispered in her ear. _He won’t love you now, damaged goods._ Lauren clenched her jaw despite the pain from her beatings and shook the voice away. _Not yet._ She thought, pushing the memories of the past few days away. _Not now._

“I’ll explain to you later.” She swallowed. “I can’t- I don’t know how…” her words failed, and she looked up to the ceiling, furious at the tears trying to leak down her face. “Just, pass me a towel, would you?”

Sam stood and helped Lauren up, her back still to him, arms crossed over her chest as the cold air raised goose bumps on her flesh. He murmured an apology as he wrapped a huge towel around her shoulders, wincing as she flinched against him. The anger boiled up in him again. How dare someone make even his touch, that once had brought Lauren such comfort, pleasure, even, a torture to her. She stepped from the tub on shaky legs and padded into the hallway, silent. Dean was leaning against the wall outside and pushed off when she emerged.

“You okay?” He closed his eyes. “Stupid question.”

Lauren barked out what was almost a laugh, and with a voice think with emotion said, “no. But I think I can be.”

****

Lauren still preferred the open space of the kitchen so Sam and Dean heaved the couch in and she had sat there, looking so tiny to the brothers. She had allowed Sam the test her ribs for any breaks, hands gliding over her bruised flesh under the towel. Satisfied that there were no broken bones, he had handed her a bottle of whiskey and offered painkillers – she only accepted the alcohol. She swallowed down four burning mouthfuls and lay down on her stomach so Sam could tend to her back.

“It’s going to hurt,” He warned her as he prepared cotton balls doused in rubbing alcohol. She stifled a laugh and gestured vaguely to her back.

“I’ve had worse.” Nothing prepared her for the burn though as Sam dabbed at her back, murmuring helpless apologies as she stiffened, burying her face into the couch cushions to keep from crying out. In the end, the damage wasn’t as bad as she had expected – only thirteen of the countless lashes had actually bitten deep enough for stitches, and less than half had drawn blood at all. Her back was a patchwork of mottled bruises and raised welts, but it would fade. Only the wounds Sam had sewn together would scar, and Lauren told herself it was a good thing – thirteen jagged reminders that she was a survivor. Mostly though, it made her feel ill.

Dean brought her water and a grilled cheese while Sam tended to the wound on her foot. She forced herself to eat, even though the hunger from her past few days had disappeared, leaving a sick emptiness behind. Her long leg stretched out, resting on Sam’s lap, her other foot tucked up underneath the blankets that covered her thighs. Dean had fetched her one of Sam’s sleep shirts once she had the strength to be vertical, and the wet towel had since been discarded.

“Max, you said his name was. Maxwell Flint?” Dean spoke said from the other side of the room. Lauren cocked her head as she looked at him in confusion.

“How-"

“Jimmy.” Dean answered, leaning forward onto the kitchen table. “He dug up the restraining order from back in Georgia, the police reports, and it didn’t take long to connect the dots once we had a name.” He couldn’t help himself. “why didn’t you tell us, Lozzie?” Lauren flinched and seemed to draw back into herself.

“ _Dean.”_ Sam said, steel in his voice.

“N-no, Sam, It’s okay.” Lauren took a deep breath. “I thought it was behind me – when you let me come with you, I thought that was it – I would disappear, and all the loose ends would be tied up in a neat little bow.” She shuddered. “God, I was so fucking naïve.”

Sam put her hand on her calf, squeezing gentle until she looked at met his eyes.

“This isn’t your fault, Lauren, none of it. Don’t you dare tell yourself any different.”

Lauren smiled at him, a weak thing, and Sam knew in his heart it was going to take a hell of a lot more convincing before she believed him.

Finally, Dean broke the silence. “Do you know where you were? Any landmarks? I’ll go take care of the bastard’s body.” Dean hated this. Hated not having someone to go after, to punish for making Lauren flinch away from the nickname he had given her. At least this way he could give the fucker a few swift kicks before the salt and burn.

“It was an old farmhouse. Blue. West, I think. Back from the road.” She replied, closing her eyes to picture it, trying to force her brain to be useful. Sam stilled and motioned for Dean to bring him his laptop. A moment later he spun the glowing screen to face Lauren, and the visceral response she had was all the answer she needed. _I was right_. He thought grimly. _So damn close._

“You-you tracked it down?” Lauren was staring at him, tears welling in her eyes. “You found me? He said you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, he s-said I’d never see you again.” The dam broke and the tears flooded down her cheeks. In an instant Sam was at her side, and this time she didn’t cry out when he pulled her close to his side as she sobbed, clutching at him desperately. He looked over her head at Dean, stricken. They both felt so goddamn helpless, a feeling that neither of them was conditioned to accept. Dean crouched down in front of Lauren and rested his hand gently on her knee.

“Look at me.” He said. She didn’t move. “ _Look at me_.” His voice firmer now.

Lauren responded then, turning her face toward him, away from the safety and heat of Sam. “He was wrong. We are always going to come for you, you hear me Lauren? Me and Sam, you’re stuck with us. He was wrong, and we are here. We always will be.”

Lauren nodded and reached out a shaking hand to grasp his, her other arm still wrapped tightly around Sam, her anchor. Then, in fits and starts, she told them what had happened. How he had taken her from Main street, how she had woken up dazed and confused. That he had been chasing her from the day she vanished from that crappy Georgia town.

“After he beat me, I fell asleep – he didn’t let me down, but I was so tired. The next morning he cleaned my back,” Lauren winced at the phantom pain that washed over her at the thought of that bottle of vodka. “Then he let me shower – he, he stood in the doorway, the asshole watched, but he let me get clean. After that, he-” _took care of me_. Lauren shook that away. “He made food, and when I didn’t eat he smashed the bowl on the ground – it’s how I cut my foot.” _Tell them what happened next._ That nasty little voice said coyly, slithering through her mind. _Tell them how it happened, how you let him chained you up like a pet. How you didn’t fight hard enough. I’ll bet you liked it. Wanted it. Sam would be disgusted._ Lauren wanted to scream.

“And then-” she swallowed, hard. “Then he – he tied me to his headboard and-” _fucked you!_ The voice crowed _._ _Mounted you and filled you up, made you moan, you whore._ “And fell asleep. I got the knot undone and I strangled him, there on the bed.”

The lies tasted sour in her mouth, but she couldn’t bear to see the look on Sam’s face if he knew the truth. He would be devastated, not only that he hadn’t been there to stop it but because she knew how much of a betrayal it was – how she didn’t stop it herself, didn’t care enough about Sam to fend Maxwell off.

“I’m so sorry, Lauren. I’m so sorry I let him do this to you. I should have been there.” Sam’s voice was tortured. Lauren released Dean’s hand and raised it to Sam’s chin.

“Don’t blame yourself, Sam, don’t do that. You couldn’t have known – I didn’t. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m back. I’m home, safe. The bad guy is dead, and I’ll heal.” _Liar._ Lauren choked that little voice out.

 _Lock your shit down, Lauren._ She thought to herself furiously. _You had your three minutes._

Dean slipped away, suddenly feeling like an interloper. “I’m gonna go take care of the asshole.” He said, and Sam nodded.

“Need a hand?” He asked, but Dean knew it was a hollow offer – there was no way his little brother was letting Lauren out of his sight, and sure as hell no chance either of them was letting her anywhere near that house.

“Nah,” Dean headed up the stairs. “you two have your chick flick moment.”

****

It was near noon by the time Dean found his way to the blue farmhouse. The front door was ajar, and he slipped inside, duffel bag in hand. He thought back to Lauren’s retelling of the event that transpired here, and saw it unfold in his head. Over there, where the rug had folded back was a smear of blood so clearly from the impact of her skull against the floorboards that it made Dean’s own head ache. The bloody footprints, haphazard, jolting, as Lauren had made her way down the stairs to freedom. On the other side of the stairs was the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach turned at the thought of her sitting face to face with her captor at that too-small dining table. Past the kitchen, the gaping hole leading down to the basement. He didn’t need to go down there. And, frankly, couldn’t even stomach the thought of it – the sight of Lauren’s blood spattering the walls, the echoes of her pain… even for Dean, who had witnessed so much death, so much pain – this was too much. He turned away and made his way up the stairs, deciding then and there that he was going to burn the whole damn house down. When he was done, there would be nothing left but the memory of this place. As Dean pushed open the door to the bedroom, exactly where Lauren had described it, he tensed. The rest of the house had shown the evidence of the story Lauren had told them, but this… this was wrong. There was blood, so much blood on the bunched sheets, and something else hardening to a film mingled with the rusty stains. There was a chain, bloody and abandoned at the foot of the bed.

The bed that was glaringly, chillingly, horribly empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. You thought I'd let them escape that easily? refer back to the title. Mwah x


	7. Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo.... this chapter happened sooner than I thought it would. No matter what happened, whenever I tried to sit down and write it I kept coming round to the same thing, so I decided to just go with the flow. Hope you like it!

Once Dean left to go take care of the farmhouse, Sam convinced Lauren to lie down on the couch and get some rest. He sat on the floor by her feet, long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him and his back flush against the couch. Now and then his long chocolate hair brushed over her toes, a strangely comforting feeling. The silence was deafening, and Lauren could feel the insidious memories of her ordeal starting to claw their way to the forefront of her mind. She stamped them down and nudged the back of Sam’s neck gently with her big toe.

“Talk to me,” She said softly. “I’ve missed your voice.” She thought she could feel Sam smile as he tilted his head back, resting it on her ankle. He started to speak, about nothing, everything. He recounted their first official date – sandwiches and beer by a creek somewhere in Indiana – and their first unofficial one, a hunt gone wrong where they both had ended up in a hole in a ground thanks to an unexpected Wendigo attack. They had sat there for hours, whispering in the dark, hands knotted together before Dean had come to fish them out. Sometime after he told her about an afternoon he and Dean had spent with Bobby as kids, but before admitting how scared he had been without her, how sick her absence had made him feel, Lauren drifted off into blissful oblivion.

Lauren jerked awake hours later, alone. Her head still hurt and sitting up caused a wave of dizziness to wash over her. She squeezed her eyes shut until the vertigo passed. Rolling her neck and then her shoulders, she catalogued her hurts. Her back and ribs still ached, but she could almost pretend it was the same sweet pain that she felt after a particularly rough job, the kind that melted away with bourbon and laughter at the table, that was soothed by the feel of Sam’s strong, safe arms around her at night. But further down… well. Between her legs felt raw, and every move caused a flash of fire inside her. She looked around furtively, and seeing no one, she dipped her hand down, curling an unsteady finger up between her lips. The feeling of even her own fingers there made her stomach churn. Drawing her hand away, she stifled a gasp at the glistening red wetness that coated her fingertips. She wanted desperately to believe her period had come while she slept, brought on early by the trauma. But she knew deep down that she wouldn’t be that lucky. On trembling legs she made her way to the bathroom, snagging a handtowel from the shelf. She wet it and sat on the edge of the tub, cleaning herself as gently as she could. The feeling of the towel against her abused labia almost made her cry out, but the thought of Sam knowing the truth, the thought of the pity, horror and surely the disgust forced her to choke the sound down.

She tossed the bloodied towel into the waste basket and walked to the door, slightly steadier. Lauren thought distantly that she should probably go to the hospital. _No._ She decided. _No hospitals. They’ll only ask questions I can’t – won’t – answer._

She paused as she drew the door open, the voices of the two Winchesters floating from the bedroom she shared with Sam.

“Keep your voice down!” Sam hissed. “She’s finally getting some sleep – God knows she needs her rest.”

Lauren heard Dean grunt, and then his voice: “we have to tell her. She can’t not know, Sam.”

“I get that!” Lauren jumped at Sam’s raised voice – the sharpness of it startling. Again, softer, “I get that. We have to tell her, but… she feels safe, you know? I don’t want to ruin that. Not yet. Give her a few more hours to get her bearings.”

“We might not have hours, Sammy. We gotta track this bastard down before the trail goes cold.”

Lauren had heard enough. Dread building in her belly, she crossed the hallway and pushed open the door to the bedroom. Sam was seated on the unmade bed, hands in his hair, with dean standing in front of him. They both jerked their heads towards her at the sound of the door creaking open.

“What are you talking about?” Sam was pale, Dean tense with a nervous energy that made Lauren feel uneasy. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sam stood, took a step towards her. It brought on a flash of remembrance, of Max looming over her as she lay prone on the crumpled sheets. She stumbled back and Sam froze. The look on his face was enough.

“I didn’t kill him,” the words here ripped from her throat, low and guttural. “I didn’t kill him, did I?”

She was met with silence, and suddenly felt as dirty as when she had first stepped out of the blue farmhouse. she asked Sam if she could borrow a pair of his track pants and disappeared into the bathroom before he could properly answer. Lauren stood under the steaming water until it ran cold, sobbing into her hands. One thing, the one thing she thought she could do well – putting down monsters, and she had failed even that. It was too much.

Eventually she forced herself from the shower. She felt drained, had barely any energy left to dry herself off. So, she didn’t. Sam had left the pants outside the bathroom door along with a pair of her underwear. She wadded up some toilet paper and wedged it between her thighs, the panties keeping it secure. Gritting her teeth against the pain even that small contact caused, she shook out the soft woollen trackpants and pulled them up her legs. She felt better then, almost every inch of her covered up, cocooned in Sam’s clean scent. Her back still stung, but she could ignore it better now.

Lauren took a deep breath and padded out to the kitchen, curling up on the couch. Sam watched her as she stared at the floor, the neck of the shirt she wore already soaked from her dripping hair.

“Lauren-.” He began. Her gaze remained lost in the nothingness of the floor. That scared him more than anything – Lauren, his Lauren, was so strong, so fierce. He would have taken anything, would have welcomed her raging, beating her fists against him, screaming the bunker down over this – this hollowness.

He tried again. “ _Lauren.”_ Her eyes dragged up to meet his. “We aren’t going to let him get away with this. I promise you, that dick won’t have a single place to run where we won’t track him down.”

She nodded slowly. “I thought I killed him.” She whispered. “I thought I ended it.”

Sam moved forward hesitantly, and when she didn’t flinch away he slipped onto the sofa next to her. Something stopped him from pulling her to him though, and they sat there in silence, inches and worlds apart. He felt so damn helpless. All he wanted to do was hold her, tightly, but even that comfort would cause her so much pain.

“Where’s Dean?” She asked, looking around vaguely.

“He’s on the phone with Jimmy. Trying to figure out where Max could be headed.”

It took her a moment to place Jimmy, but then it struck her – Jody’s pal in Kansas state police.

“I’m tired.” She said. In fact, she realised, she was exhausted. Her nap on the couch felt like it was decades ago. Sam started to get up so she could lay down, but her hand on his arm stopped him. “Don’t go.” It wasn’t a request, or an order. It was a plea. Sam lowered himself back onto the couch and slid over so Lauren could stretch out a bit. She rested her head on his knee, facing outwards, and slowly he lowered his hand to her wet hair.

“Is this okay?” He whispered to her, his throat dry. He felt her nod against his hand. Something in his chest loosened as he sat there stroking her hair. Lauren fell asleep almost immediately.

_The room was dark. Sam’s knee was no longer under her head, and her neck ached. Slowly, Lauren sat up, the tall figure in the shadows by the stairs. She squinted, trying to make out its features._

_“Sam?” she called, because suddenly the stairs were miles away, and she spun to face the figure that materialised behind her. Its face was impossibly shrouded in darkness, but the voice it spoke with sent her stomach into a tailspin. That voice – like honey._

_“Lozzie, my Lozzie,” it said, stepping closer. Lauren tried to move but couldn’t and it was only then that she realised she was tied to that awful bed, the collar around her throat digging into the soft flesh. Max stood above her. “It took me three years to find you – did you think I’d let you go that easily?”_

_And then he was in her, hot and urgent and tearing her apart. She screamed, cried, begged him to stop but it was useless. He just surged into her, his mouth leaving marks on her shoulders, her breasts. Suddenly he grunted, plunged in deep and released. He pulled out, slick with her blood and his semen. He looked her in the eyes and smiled, trailing bloody marks over her belly with his fingers. “You’re mine.” He said. “Even if I don’t find you again,” He pressed down on her belly, hard, and the awful truth dawned on her. “You’ll always be a part of me, and now I’ve given you a part of me too.”_

“Hey, Lauren, Hey!” Sam shook Lauren awake and she leapt away from him, tumbling to the floor. Realisation hit her, finally, that she was awake, and she raked her fingers through her hair, eyes wide as she sucked in huge, gulping breaths. She glanced around, eyes wild. Sam was frozen on the sofa, eyes locked on her. She looked like a wounded animal, crouched there in the middle of the floor.

“Just breathe, Lauren, okay?” He said, more of a tremor in his voice than he cared to admit, and slid to his knees, shuffling forward until he was square in front of her. “Breathe. You’re safe. You’re with me, and I am never going to let him hurt you again, okay?”

Slowly she calmed down, the galloping of her heart steadying until it felt normal again in her chest. “What time is it? Sam? What’s the time?”

He looked at his watch, confusion written across his face. “It’s seven.” She looked at him as if she expected more. “Seven in the morning.” Lauren turned white. It had been over twenty-four hours? How had that happened? She sucked in a breath.

“I, um, I have to go to the pharmacy. In town.”

Sam cocked his head. “What do you need? I’m sure, whatever it is, we’ll have it here – we’ve kept the place pretty well stocked; you know that.”

Lauren shook her head. _He’ll know!_ The voice at the back of her mind crowed. _Oh, poor Sammy will feel so betrayed. So heartbroken that you didn’t love him enough to stop it_.

“We don’t.” She struggled to her feet and wrapped her arms about herself.

“Then what do you need? I’ll go get it for you. Honestly, Lauren, I don’t want you out in the open until Dean can track Maxwell down. I can’t risk that.”

She shook her head again. “No, I need to go. I don’t… they won’t give it too you unless I’m there.”

 _You have to tell him!_ The voice sang out. _You have to tell him you could have a BABYYYYYY._

“Lauren, come on. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Sam, I- I can’t.”

“What is it?” Sam was desperate. Desperate to help, desperate to understand. Dean hadn’t said much about the state of the house, but what he had told Sam made his gut clench. “Lauren, _tell me._ ”

She crumbled. “Levonorgestrel.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes and hung her head. _Oooop, cat’s out of the bag Lozzie-lou! Sammy’s girl is a fu-cking who-ore._ The sing-song voice crackled with malice and demented joy.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What-” his blood turned to ice as he remembered the drug, what it was for.

Lauren looked up, still not at him, but to the ceiling, tears tracking down her cheeks. “I need the morning after pill.”

****

Lauren told him the truth then, finally. Her voice cracked as she told him how Max had forced her arms over her head, how she had kicked as he dragged the jeans off, how he had raped her. Told him how she had let him touch her, how she pretended – if only for a handful of heartbeats – to want it, to want _him._

Sam had stood there, pale and shell-shocked. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m so sorry. I tried so hard.” Lauren strangled back a sob, and only half succeeded. “I tried to fight, him, I promise, I tried but he was so-” she hiccupped. “So strong. I didn’t want it, okay? I didn’t. but I didn’t stop him. God, why didn’t I stop him?” Her knees felt weak. She couldn’t bring herself to look a Sam, to see the disappointment and pity in his eyes that she was so sure she deserved.

Instead, she felt Sam’s arms close around her. She resisted for half a heartbeat and then fell forward, sobbing into his chest, muttering over and over again: _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ Eventually, Sam had had enough. He pulled away from Lauren but wrapped his hands around her upper arms, holding her in front of him. He lowered his head until he found her eyes, red and puffy and so filled with self-loathing it made him want to cry. Max had done this to here. And the fucker was going to pay.

“Lauren, stop. I don’t care if I have to tell you this every day, hell every hour of the rest of our lives. What he did to you? That was _not_ your fault. You’re a survivor. You did what you had to do and you came out the other side. You did not deserve this. You hear me? I don’t blame you. It doesn’t make me love you any less. And you did. Not. Deserve. This.”

Lauren’s eyes widened at the earnest fire in Sam’s eyes. “You-” she swallowed. “You don’t hate me?”

Sam barked out a laugh and stepped in. he released her arms but slid them up to cup her face, thumbs sliding over her tear-soaked cheekbones. “Are you kidding? Nothing, _nothing_ could make that happen. Lauren, I have loved you since the moment I met you. No matter how hard you beat yourself up, no matter how much that fucked up voice in your head tries to convince you otherwise, you’re stuck with me.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Don’t you dare let this fucker beat you Lauren. Don’t you dare let him make you think, even for half a second, that you are worth any less because of what he forced you to endure.”

Lauren sagged in his arms and wrapped hers around his waist. Gently, Sam tucked her head against his shoulder and held it here, his lips brushing the top of her head, rocking her softly.

They stood there for an age before Lauren pulled away.

“Sam…”. She stopped. Words weren’t enough. She lifted her hand to his cheek. And he pressed into it. “I love you.”

Sam smiled. “I love you too.”

Then, together, and stronger for it: “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw. finally, a lighter end to a chapter. Don't say I'm not nice to these guys sometimes, 'kay? Stay tuned. It probably won't last.


	8. Let that be enough

Lauren felt lighter, having told Sam. She agreed to both him and Dean accompanying her to the pharmacy, and while she attempted to cover the worst of the bruising on her face with make-up Sam drew his brother aside and explained what had really happened with Max.

Sam’s news, though not totally unexpected to Dean, still hit him like a steel-capped boot to the gut. Sam found himself gripping Dean’s arm, telling him in no uncertain terms to _calm the hell down_. Lauren appeared in the doorway. She still looked like she had been hit by a car, but it was more of a two door smart-car kind of vibe, instead of an eighteen-wheeler. She had discarded Sam’s shirt and trackpants for her own, and had just tugged a woollen sweater over her head, wincing, when Dean grabbed her by the shoulders. He searched her eyes, and then pulled her in roughly for a hug. Lauren stared wide-eyed over his shoulder at Sam, who stifled a snort of laughter and shook his head. Dean stepped back and looked at the (still slightly bemused) woman in front of him. He gritted his teeth.

“I’m going to rip his fucking lungs out.”

****

The trip into town felt almost normal – Dean drove, of course, and cranked up a Blue Öyster Cult tape. Sam, seated in the passenger seat, cringed and turned it down. In the backseat Lauren huffed a dry laugh and stared out the window, the blur of trees and fields and the odd building lulling her into relaxation. They were on main street before she knew it. She white-knuckled the door handle as they passed the grocery store and caught sight of the truck where she had left it days earlier.

“You left it there?” She asked, and nodding at the car when Sam looked back at her. He let out a little smile.

“Yeah um… in case you made it back to it.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She didn’t really know what to say at that. The faith that small gesture showed in her somehow made her feel worse for taking so long to escape. Sam noticed the cloud float across her features and reached back to draw his fingers over her knuckles.

“Hey,” he said gently. “don’t do that.”

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Don’t. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t.”

“Me either.” Came Dean’s gruff affirmation as he guided the Impala smoothly into a park in front of the pharmacy entrance. Lauren moved to open the door, but Dean shook his head.

“I’ll go scope it out first. Sit tight.” He said, and swung his legs out of the car, head on a constant swivel as he checked for any problems. He jogged into the pharmacy, completed a circuit of the interior. Satisfied, he exited and jerked his chin up at his brother watching him through the windshield. Only then did Sam release her hand. He was out of the car and opening the back door before Lauren had a chance to get it herself. As they walked the short distance to where Dean stood at the doors, Lauren took Sam’s hand and squeezed.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” she said.

“Nuh-uh, I’m coming in with you.” Sam said, and Dean nodded – him too.

“Uh, no, you aren’t. Think about it. I look like shit – going in alone like this looking for emergency contraception is gonna raise some eyebrows, let alone going in flanked by two scary-as-fuck looking men. Neither of you are exactly what I would call teddy bears.” She arched her eyebrow at Sam. “Wait here.”

With that she disappeared into the pharmacy and Sam took up a post on the opposite side of the door to Dean. She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. She came out fifteen minutes later, red in the face and shoulders tight.

“You okay?” Sam moved forward, suddenly afraid that something, someone, had hurt her again. She looked up at him and he was met not with fear, but annoyance. She held up a sheaf of paper in her hand, and it took him a second to focus on the words. He looked at her incredulously. “God Gave You This Baby,” read one. And ridiculously, “Is Poisoning Your Child Poisoning Your Chances at Heaven?”. Lauren stuffed them in a nearby trash can.

“Fucking Kansas.” She said and stomped back to the car, white paper bag gripped in her hands. Sam bit back a laugh and followed her, shrugging his shoulders at his older brother. Lauren had already torn the package open and was holding the pill up in front of her by the time they caught up.

“It’s so small,” she mused. “For some reason I thought it would be bigger, you know? Harder to get down.” With a shake of her head she pressed it between her lips and swallowed it dry. “Well. That’s out of the way.” She tried to make her voice lighter, unaffected. The crease between Sam’s brows told her it wasn’t as convincing as she hoped.

Dean, as always, broke the tension. He tossed Sam Baby’s keys. “You guys head back to the bunker. I’m gonna go take care of the truck – can’t have any of us driving around in something recognisable anymore.” Lauren heard what he really meant: Max knows that car. It had to go.

****

Two or so hours later, Dean pulled up in front of the bunker. Their new ride was a little too ‘soccer mom’ for his liking, but it ran well. Sam was waiting for him in the doorway.

“How’s our girl?” Dean asked as he approached. Sam shrugged.

“She’s fine,” he replied. “It’s like this past week never happened.”

Dean frowned. “Well… that’s good.” He paused. “Isn’t it?”

Sam huffed. “No, Dean, it isn’t. She’s doing exactly what we did – do – when bad shit happens. She’s shoving it down, ignoring it. Pretending she can just go straight back to normal.” He pointed back to the bunker. “She’s cleaning.”

“Huh?"

“Yeah. She’s in there, right now, looking dead on her feet and scrubbing the sink so hard I thought she was going to give herself a hernia.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Well, maybe she just needs time, you know? To process.”

“It’s not healthy, Dean! She needs to rest.”

“Yeah, I know that. Why the hell are you telling me? Go talk to her.”

Sam hung his head. “Honestly? I have no idea what to say. I don’t-” he pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Everything we’ve dealt with, Dean, it’s never been like this. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I feel so damn terrified that whatever I say will just… make it worse.”

“Well, you gotta say something. You and me, we’re old friends with denial – hell, it’s part of our DNA. Lauren needs better.” Dean poked Sam’s chest as he brushed past. “I’ll do my bit. But Sammy, the only person she ever really listens to is you.”

****

That night, the three of then sat around the kitchen table, quiet. Sam had finally gotten Lauren to quit cleaning, and she sat nursing a glass of whiskey, the burger in front of her only half eaten. Sam nudged her.

“You should get some sleep.” He clamped is lips down on her nickname just before it escaped. It was so natural, calling her Lozzie, like breathing. And, like holding a breath for too long, it hurt to hold in.

She kept her eyes trained on her glass. “I think I’m good for now – I just want to sit for a while. You guys go. Its late.” Something about the way she said it brooked no argument. Gently, Sam pressed his lips to the top of her head as he stood. Dean squeezed her shoulder as he passed.

She sat there for what felt like an age. Eventually, the protestations of her muscles at staying locked in one position overtook the need for stillness and she set down her glass, stretching as much as she could before her ribs burned too much. Quietly, she tidied away her dirty plate and then slipped to the bathroom. The latest wad of toilet paper in her underwear was only spotted with a little blood, and Lauren felt a bit of tension drain away. She had worried that if the bleeding hadn’t slowed soon, she would have had to tell the boys what was going on. Not a conversation she relished the idea of.

Exhaustion weighed heavy in her limbs as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, resisting the urge to shower for fifth time that day. Padding out of the hall, she glaced at the clock on the wall: 1:22am. Lauren stood over the couch that had become her bed and felt such loneliness that she wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. Was this the way it was always going to be? Too scared to step foot into a fucking room because it felt too much like it was _his_ , and not the one she shared with Sam? Too frightened to sleep in a bed because it might feel like _his_ sheets under her, not her own? _His_ weight next to her, not Sam’s? Lauren clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. Sam. God, she missed him – even though he was right down the hall, she missed him with an ache so violent it took her breath away. What she wouldn’t give to see those dimples, feel his hair brush against her neck, his body against hers, sheltering her, protecting her as they lay in the dark. What she wouldn’t give for it to all just go back to the way it was. But it couldn’t. Max had ruined that, too.

 _No._ She decided. _Max has ruined me, maybe. Probably. But he can’t ruin Sam. And I won’t let him ruin what we have._

She was at the door to their bedroom. It was slightly ajar, yet for some reason she had to suppress the urge to knock. Steeling herself, she pushed the door open a few more inches and slipped into the room, resisting the memories that fought to overtake her. Sam was sound asleep, head tossed in profile, his left knee up in line with his hip and his left hand rising and falling gently with each breath, resting on his bare stomach. His right arm was tucked under his head. She could just see the waistband of his soft pyjama pants poking from the covers – the checked ones that she always tried to steal when winter came. She smiled at the memory of Sam lifting her onto the bed, those stupid pants clutched tightly in her hands, and tickling her as she shrieked with laughter. The kind that made her abdominal muscles hurt for days.

Something roused Sam, and he raised his head, eyes opening just a crack. “Lauren?” His voice was hoarse with waking. “You alright?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she stole forward and pulled down the covers on her side of the bed. “Is it- is it okay if I sleep here tonight?” She whispered, suddenly terrified that the answer would be no. Sam smiled, and shifted until he was on his side facing her.

“Do you even have to ask?” He murmured back. “Get over here.”

She crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and sidling closer to Sam. She kept her eyes locked on his sleep softened face; those gorgeous eyes barely open but so utterly disarming.

“Let me know if anything makes you uncomfortable, okay? Or if it’s too much.”

She nodded. Smoothly, Sam slid towards her, stretching his right arm out and slipping it under her head until her cheek rested on his bicep. His lifted his left arm up to trace her the side of her face, and then dropped it to lock their fingers together. Lauren pressed her other hand against his chest, finding his heartbeat, and made a game of trying to match her breathing to it. Sam smiled as he felt her slowly relax into his arms. For the first time since she had come back to him, Sam thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. Lauren’s eyelids grew heavy, and as they closed she thought the exact same thing.

That feeling would last almost exactly 105 more hours. It’s 1:47am. Set your watches.


	9. 105

It had been four days since Lauren had escaped the farmhouse, and three since she had finally faced the bedroom that she shared with Sam. The purple bruises that patchworked her body had faded a bit, yellowing. She had been surprised at just how quickly her back had healed, too. While it was still bruised and sore to the touch in places, the welts from Max’s belt had all but disappeared. Sam had checked the gashes over a day ago and had been satisfied with how they were healing up. She found herself not having to fidget to get comfortable as much as she had days before, and the bleeding between her legs had stopped completely. She still avoided tight pants, jeans, but her movements had become easier and more relaxed.

“Chow time!” Dean called as he jogged down the stairs. He held a small cardboard box in his hands, Baby’s keys swinging from his finger. Lauren emerged from the study, book in hand, with Sam not far behind. He grimaced as he caught sight of the containers Dean was unpacking.

“Seriously? Stacey’s diner, again?”

“Chill out, little brother, I got you your rabbit food.” He tossed a clear container of salad at Sam’s chest. Lauren reached out and snagged a paper cup marked with an ‘L’, sipping the straw and finding it contained a caramel milkshake – her favourite. Dean noticed the look on her face and smiled.

“Two extra pumps of caramel, just how you like it – though God knows how your teeth haven’t rotted through yet.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she put down the milkshake and reached into the bag for her share of the meal.

“Got you your favourite,” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of burger. “with garlic bread.”

She pulled out the tall plastic container, the orange liquid inside hot to the touch, and her heart turned to stone.

 _“Your favourite.”_ Dean’s voice, so deep and throaty, melted to honey. Lauren turned white as a sheet and Dean cocked his head. “Lauren?”

_“I made it for you. You have to be hungry.”_

Lauren dropped the container with a gasp and stumbled back as it exploded over the table, splattering everywhere.

 _“You ungrateful bitch.”_ Honey turned to knives and Lauren swore she could feel the collar around her throat again, biting into her neck as Max pulled her in – could feel his breath on her face. Distantly, she felt someone shaking her. Like breaking through the surface of a lake, reality righted itself and she saw Sam’s face, his hazel eyes searching hers anxiously. Numbly Lauren realised she was trembling. She caught sight of the mess she had made and crumbled.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up. I’ll clean it up right now.” She tried to turn to away to find a cloth but Sam’s fingers dug into her upper arms, holding her in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, Lauren, okay? It’s just soup. It’s fine. We’re not angry.”

Dean stepped forward and rubbed her arm. “What just happened?”

“I, um.” Lauren’s voice cracked and she paused, shaking her head against the memory of it. “Max, he made pumpkin soup while I was with him. He knew, somehow, it was my favourite. I didn’t eat it and… he got mad.” Sam relaxed his grip on her arms and lowered his hands to enclose one of hers. “He broke the bowl – that’s how I cut my foot, on one of the shards. I though apologising would defuse the situation, you know, and it did, I guess, but he…” She tried not to gag at the phantom feeling of Max’s mouth on hers. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Lauren-”

“I said it doesn’t matter, Sam!” Her raised voice rang through the room and she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. Sam raised his arms to hold her, but she took a step back. “I need to have a shower.” With that she was gone, and moments later Sam heard the water start to run – it was her eighteenth in the past four days.

Dean shook his head, a pained expression on his face. “Max really fucked with her grapefruit.”

“Yeah, you think?” Sam brushed his hair back out of his eyes. “Did Jimmy get anything on him?”

“We’re pretty sure he stole a car from a gas-and-sip five miles outside of Lebanon. Other than that, zip – the guy’s like smoke.”

Sam pursed his lips and started to mop up the soup, dumping the container in the trash. “Well he’s not the type to let this go. He’s not going to just let her live her life.”

****

Max was on edge. He’d switched cars twice now, kept his head down, but he knew the men with his Lozzie were bound to be looking for him. He squeezed the steering wheel of the nondescript hatchback he had lifted from a hospital carpark and felt his blood rise at the thought of that tall, longhaired thug touching her. Max was sure that if he had just had a bit more time, he could have shown Lauren exactly how good they were together – but he realised now that he had gone about it completely wrong. Those two guys had completely brainwashed her, he was sure, into believing they were her friends, family even. That they loved her. But neither of them could ever even come close to loving Lauren like Max could – he had _tried_ to show her that, but she had just made him so mad and he knew that sometimes you just had to beat sense into a person. His Daddy had taught him that.

Well, this time, this time he would get it right. Lauren needed to be shown that he would never give up on her. She needed to know that no-one could take care of her, protect her like he could. He had to show her how weak and useless those two buffoons were. Then, once her eyes were opened to how lost she had been for these past three years, _then_ she would love him, Max knew it.

She _would_ love him.

****

Lauren felt _good._ She was halfway through one of Dean’s nicer bottles of whiskey, seated in front of her laptop, searching for jobs. After the episode with the soup, she decided it was time to get her head out of her ass. Both Sam and Dean had been to hell, literal hell, for years and had come out the other side. Shaken it off. (Well, at the least they had been mostly functional once they made it back topside. And even though Sam had been soulless for a while after his round with the Devil, it had all come good. Anyway, back to the point.) Lauren was tired of being the victim. She hated the way Sam and Dean looked at her like she was made of glass, and she hated that she felt like it even more. Well, not anymore. Shit was locked down, and she was moving on. The Winchesters had dealt with years of torture between them – she could deal with a few days.

“What are you doing?” Sam was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. Lauren got the sense that he had been there for a while.

“Working.” She looked back it the screen. “Four dead in Hamburg, Iowa – chests caved in while they slept. Seem like our kinda thing to you?”

“Not at the moment, no.” Sam’s voice held a note of… something. Lauren couldn’t pin it down. It certainly wasn’t approval, though. “Have you been drinking?”

She raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly at the bottle and then back at him with a _what do you think_? look on her face.

“It’s nine in the morning.” Sam sounded exasperated, and not just a little bit worried.

“Sammy, I’m fine. A little day drinking isn’t going to kill me. Besides, we’ve been off the clock for too long already. Time to get back in the game.” She looked up at him and smiled – he looked fuzzy around the edges.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” Lauren swayed. “Maybe a little. But that’s beside the point.”

Dean strolled in. He raised his eyebrows at the tension in the room and the half empty bottle on the desk by Lauren’s elbow. “What’s the point?” He asked, swapping a look with Sam. Lauren pushed herself to her feet.

 _“_ The point is that I’ve found us a job. Get packed boys.”

Sam sighed. “There is no way you’re going on a case, Lauren. You’re still healing.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. You two go then. It’s a three-hour drive. You’ll be back in no time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lauren. Max is still out there – I’m not leaving you alone until he’s out of the picture.” Sam’s voice was tight.

“I gotta agree with Sammy on this one kiddo.” Dean spoke up, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re doing what we can, but the bastard’s in the wind. We can’t leave you unprotected while he’s still around. We’ll pass this one on to someone else.”

Lauren clenched her jaw, and Sam’s heart sank at the look in her eyes. He knew where this was headed. She was like a dog with a bone, and he knew there was no way she was letting this go without a fight.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Besides, this place is a literal bunker – there’s no way Max could find it, let alone get in. We have work to do, and it won’t do any of us any good sitting around with our thumbs up our asses. I want to work. I want to get on with my life. Help me do that.”

Lauren had moved across the room while she spoke, and now she stood in front of Sam looking into his eyes intently. Her gaze shifted to Dean.

“I know you guys are worried about me. I get it. But honestly I’m starting to feel suffocated. I feel like I can’t take a step without one of you watching me to see if I fall over. I won’t go out to Iowa with you. But let me play support team, here – I’ll do the research, find the lore and give you guys the info.” Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Lauren shushed him with a finger to his lips. “I need to feel useful again. And if it makes you feel better, I promise I won’t leave the bunker. Not even if I’m really craving nachos.” That drew a tiny smile from Sam. He looked over at his brother.

“Dean – thoughts?”

Dean shrugged. “I think our girl has laid down the law." He scanned Lauren's face. "What’s the word?”

Lauren grinned, an honest to goodness grin that lit up her face – it was the first real smile that either of the men had seen from her for days and neither could help but grin back at her.

Sam and Dean were on the road in less than half an hour. By a quarter to ten they were speeding north-west towards Hamburg. Sam had a notepad out and was scribbling notes as Lauren talked to them over speaker phone.

“I think we could be dealing with a Cauchemar – the lore says that it sits on people’s chests, invisible, making it so they can’t move – like sleep paralysis, I guess. But these four must have been able to see it, maybe? So, it crushed them instead.”

“So, what, this thing just goes around sitting on people to get its rocks off?” Dean said, leaning towards the phone a bit so Lauren could catch his voice.

“No, as far as I can tell it’s a punishment – it goes after people who’ve done bad things, kind of like it’s dealing out supernatural retribution.”

“Well, can’t argue with that.” Dean said, and Sam rolled his eyes. “How do we kill it?”

“I’m still working on that. I’ll give you a call back when I have something new. Let me know when you get there if I don’t call first.”

“Yeah, will do. Thanks babe.” Sam shut off the call and pocketed his phone. He tapped his pen against the paper a few times and then looked up, staring down the open road in front of them. “We’re doing the right thing here, right? Getting back to work?”

Dean looked over at his brother. “Of course we are.”

He almost believed it too.

****

Lauren stood and stretched – her ribs, though still tender, hurt far less now, and the headaches were few and far between as well. Lauren walked into the kitchen, coffee on her mind.

She glanced at the clock on the wall as she poured herself a mug from the coffee pot; 10:34am. Sam and Dean would be halfway to Iowa by now. Lauren turned and strolled towards the stairs, relishing in the emptiness of the bunker. For the past four days, she hadn’t been able turn her head with seeing either one or both of the Winchesters pretending not to be watching her. It was a little easier to breathe now that she had some space. Desperate for some fresh air and the heat of the mid-morning sun, Lauren climbed the stairs and heaved open the door, sunlight streaming in as she slipped out into the world. She climbed up onto the hood of their new ride and sat there, cross-legged, soaking in the sun as she sipped at her coffee. After a few minutes she drained the last of her coffee and jumped down off the hood to make her way back inside for more research. She’d left the door open, so she just had to step through and pull it shut behind her before she was sealed back in the cool safety of the bunker. As she came to the bottom of the stairs, a number of things happened at once.

The clock ticked over to 10:47am.

Lauren froze as her eyes fell on the beautifully wrapped gift sitting in the centre of the dining table. _The exact same as the gifts she had found on her bed three years earlier._

The mug slipped from her grasp, shattering by her foot.

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a blur moving towards her, fast.

A glint of something metallic.

A sharp prick on the side of her neck.

Arms of iron catching her as her legs turned to jelly and her eyes slid shut.

It all happened in a matter of seconds - Lauren didn’t even have time to scream.


	10. Fool me once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Thanks for sticking with me. Comment and let me know what you think, please!

“Hey, Lauren, we’ve just pulled into the station in Hamburg – gonna go check in with the local cops and then we’ll go from there.” Sam adjusted his tie – they had pulled into a gas station on the way into town and changed into their FBI kit. Now Dean was waiting at the doors to the police station, impatient to get going now they were on a case.

“Anyway, uh, it’s a little after 1:30 now. Let us know when you get anything on the monster. Love you, Lauren.” The phone beeped and he slid it into his inner breast pocket, resisting the urge to call back and leave another message. _She’s fine._ He told himself. _She’s safe in the bunker._

“Yo! Sammy!” Dean hollered, and Sam grimaced. He turned and jogged over to his brother. “What’d Lauren have to say?”

“Nothing.” Sam clenched his jaw. “She didn’t pick up.”

“Well, that’s just great. I love going in blind.”

“Dean.” Sam shook his head. “Last time she didn’t pick up the phone…” He couldn’t stop his mind from going there.

Dean opened his mouth to respond and was cut off by Sam’s ringtone. Lauren’s number flashed up on the screen, and Sam visibly sagged in relief.

“Lauren, hey-"

“Sam, isn’t it?” The voice on the other end of the line was coldly pleasant. Sam’s eyes shot up to meet Dean’s and he motioned with his head to the car.

“Where’s Lauren? Who the hell are you?” Sam ground out. He already knew the answer. The men swung into the Impala and Dean was screeching out of the parking lot before Sam even closed the door.

“I think you know exactly who I am. And I’m very intrigued to meet you and your brother – Dean, yes? I’d expect you to be quite something if you could manage to steal my Lauren away.” Sam could hear the sneer on Max’s voice and curled his lip in distaste.

“Listen to me, you cocksucker,” he snarled. “If you so much as touch her I will rip you limb from limb, you hear me?"

“Well, Sam, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that.”

Sam’s heart turned to ice and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What have you done?” he said, voice low and threatening.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. But I’ll give you a hint; Lauren broke the rules, running from me. She knew what she was doing, and she knows that rule breakers reap just punishments. She knew how bad you were for her, and she came running back to you anyway. I underestimated your pull, Sammy-boy. But I’ll take care of it all, don’t you worry.” Sam could hear moaning in the background and his eyes burned. “Ah, gotta go. Sleeping Beauty’s waking up. Hurry now, Sam. Wouldn’t want you and your brother to miss all the fun.” The line went dead Sam dropped his phone from nerveless fingers.

“Drive faster, Dean.” He said, his voice low.

“Sam, what-”

“Drive!” Sam roared and Dean slammed his foot down on the gas, pushing Baby’s limits as the rocketed back to Lebanon.

The Impala screamed towards the bunker, and it was nowhere near fast enough for either Sam or Dean’s liking.

****

Max’s voice floated across her consciousness as Lauren floated back up to reality. She moaned involuntarily and Max moved towards her, crouching down so their faces were level – she was sprawled on the kitchen floor, propped up against the dining table. As whatever Max had injected her with wore off, she felt the sting of metal against her throat. She had woken with another fucking collar around her neck. Once she realised exactly who was in front of her she struggled to back away from him, but the chain that attached her to the hardwood table was too short to gain her more than a foot or two. Gazing at her, Max reached out a hand to stroke her face, and then his fingers slipped down to the metal around her neck. It was slimmer but no less heavy than the last one and Lauren realised coldly that there was no lock poking her – just a complete cylindrical hoop, tight enough that she felt it constrict just a touch every time she breathed.

“You look so beautiful in this…” Max whispered to her.

“Max,” She ground out. “Please, _please_ take this thing off me. I promise, I won’t run. Just… It makes me feel sick. _Please_.”

Max’s hand had tightened in her hair and wrenched her head back. “Now where have I heard that before, huh?”

Hot tears sprang to her eyes and Lauren gritted her teeth. _I am not going to fall apart. Not now._

Max released her and she slumped back to the ground. “This is a fascinating place, Lozzie. You’ll have to explain to me sometime how you ended up here.” He turned back and caught her fingering the hoop around her neck. He pointed at it. “That, I found back there in amongst all that… well, stuff. It’s remarkable, isn’t it? Seamless. Unbreakable, best I can tell. Once we take care of those thugs that stole you from me, I think we could make a home here. Don’t you?”

“W-what do you mean, take care of?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Max shrugged. “I understand now what went wrong last time. You felt beholden to those two Neanderthals – you were trying so hard to get back here, to them, that you couldn’t see what was right in front of you.” He crouched down and grabbed up her hands, trapping them in his grasp. “But once they get here, I’m going to make you see. I’m going to make you see that they do. Not. Deserve. You.” He smiled. “But I do.”

“Sam-” Lauren started. Max squeezed her hands, hard. So hard she felt the bones grind together. She clamped her mouth shut and let out a muffled _hmmmph_ of pain.

“ _Sam,”_ Max growled, “is going to suffer for taking you away from me. For fooling you into thinking you could love anyone but me, you understand? And that will be your punishment too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Max grinned, a twisted, ugly thing. “You’re going to watch him die. Him and the other one.”

Lauren’s blood ran cold. “You bastard. They’ll be home any second, and when they get here they’ll make you wish I had killed you back at that farmhouse.” She snarled and spat at him, hitting him square in the face. Eyes closed, he released her hands and stood. Pulling a handercheif from his jeans pocket, Max wiped his face. Then, with stunning fercity he backhanded her so hard she saw stars. She spat blood out to the side and looked at him defiantly, determined not to let him see a drop of the terror that had taken root inside her.

“You don’t think I’ve done my homework? I know they’ve gone to Iowa. They’re at least two and half, three hours away. Thank you, by the way, for getting them out of our hair. I have to admit I was a little stumped on how to get you alone.”

That had been a while ago. Max had pulled a beer from the fridge and sipped at it as he paced the kitchen. Any attempt Lauren made to speak, to get through to him, was met by increasingly vicious slaps. Her cheek burned hot and red, and Lauren knew that if she survived this the old yellowing bruises would be joined by fresh ones. Once he had drained the bottle, he tossed it into the sink and glanced at the clock – he had called Sam Winchester just after 1:30pm, and it was now close to 3:45. The brothers would be here soon.

He pulled out two of the sturdy dining chairs and placed them six feet apart, a few meters from the base of the stairs. Max lifted a duffel onto the table and pulled out a bunch of wide zip ties, dropping four on each of the chairs and tucking the rest away. The positioning placed Lauren right between the two chairs, too far back to even get close to reaching them. But whatever was going to happen she would have a damn good view.

Lauren watched his every move. Once satisfied, he grabbed another beer and drew one of the remaining chairs forward. Seated, his knee brushed Lauren’s shoulder. Languidly he reached out and stroked her hair. Lauren jerked away and he barked out a laugh, grabbing up a tuft of her hair and yanking it back, angling the back of her head against his knee. Skin crawling, Lauren forced herself to remain still, jaw clenched so hard she thought her teeth might crack.

The minutes ticked by agonising slowly. Eventually she heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pull up outside. She couldn’t decide whether the feeling in the pit of her stomach was relief or dread.

Max clenched his fist in her hair and dragged her up into his lap, the chain pulling painfully against her neck. He locked one of his arms around her waist, her arms trapped between her body and his arm. The beer bottle in his hand had been replaced with a wickedly sharp hunting knife, and Lauren whimpered as he dragged the tip teasingly along the collarbone.

“Don’t worry baby,” he murmured into her hair. “it’s just for show.” Lauren didn’t believe him.

The door slammed open and Sam burst in, eyes blazing with rage and locked on Max. Dean appeared at his shoulder, gun in hand. Both had discarded their suit jackets and ties, and Sam had a knife clenched in his fist.

Sam was down the stairs in an instant. “Let her go.” He ordered. Lauren felt Max smile, and a shiver ran down her spine. Max lifted the knife and tapped the point against her cheekbone. Sam stilled, a snarl curling on his lip. Dean kept the high ground and lifted his gun.

“I will put a bullet through your eye.” Dean growled. Lauren knew that tone – it was the one that brooked no argument. “Unchain her. Let her go. And maybe, we’ll let you die quick.”

Max just smirked and dug the knife into Lauren’s cheek, drawing a thin line of red down to her chin. She hissed and squirmed in his grasp. Sam’s knuckled were white and he took another step forward.

“Uh-uh,” Max said. “I don’t want to hurt her, gentlemen. But I will if you don’t do what I say, understood?” He dug the blade into the soft flesh under her eye, just hard enough to draw a pinprick of red. “Gun down, Dean.” Max’s eyes flicked up to Dean and after a moment he lowered the gun slowly, resting it on the floor.

“Now. I know you both have at least a few weapons on you – toss them away. And don’t try to get one past me.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Sam.” Lauren said. “Don’t do a thing he says, I’m begging you.”

Max tightened his arm around her and she gasped as she felt her ribs groan. “Lozzie, we’ve talked about this. Your mouth has already gotten you in trouble today – don’t make me gag you.”

“Stop it!” Sam’s voice was hoarse. Both he and Dean dropped their weapons to the floor and kicked them out of reach. Sam raised his hands, eyes locked on Lauren’s. _I’m sorry,_ they seemed to say. _I’m not risking you._

Max inclined his head. “Very good.” He drew the knife away from Lauren’s eye and Sam exhaled roughly. “Now. Dean-o, take a seat if you please. Sam, grab those zip ties – I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure them out."

Lauren watched as Dean descended the stairs and sat, body tight with adrenaline. Sam secured his ankles to the front legs of the chair and his wrists to the back two legs, so his hands were down below his hips. Sam began to rise but froze when he heard Lauren muffle a gasp of pain. He snapped his head towards then to see a thin finger of blood running down her temple.

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” Max spat. “Tighter.” Hatred twisting his features, Sam tightened the zip ties around his brother’s limbs until Dean grunted. “Now you. Do your legs and your right hand.”

Sam obeyed, though he struggled with his hand for a few moments. When finished, he leant back and glared at Max.

Max pressed a kiss to Lauren’s neck and let her slip to the floor, her knees banging harshly against the tile. He secured Sam’s left hand and then gathered the left-over zip ties from his duffle, adding another two to each of the men’s limbs. Still, they both tugged against the restraints, feeling for even a breath of give. Max assessed them for a moment and then turned to Lauren. The look in his eyes made her stomach roil as he knelt down and unfastened the chain from around the table leg. The second she felt the chain sag Lauren launched herself at him, sending the knife skittering from his grip and them both tumbling across the floor. Lauren snatched up the knife and scrambled to her feet, beelining for Sam. Dean shouted out a warning and the next second she felt herself jerk backwards, feet flying out from under her as she slammed bodily into the ground. The air whooshed out of her and she lay still, stunned and gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs. Max lifted his foot from the chain and collected it in his hand. Wrapping it twice around his fist he heaved Lauren to her feet, pulling at the chain until Lauren’s eyes widened as she realised she wasn’t just winded – no air could get in at all. Sam and Dean shouted wordlessly in protest as Lauren’s fingers scrabbled against the unrelenting metal crushing her throat.

“Stop it!” Sam cried out. “Please, just let her breathe! You have us locked down, alright? You don’t need to prove anything.”

Max waited a couple of beats, enjoying the desperation in the younger Winchester’s eyes. He relaxed his grip and Lauren fell to her knees, leaning forward with one hand supporting herself on the floor as she coughed and sucked in great, heaving breaths. 

“On the contrary, Sam. I have a lot to prove.” He looked down at Lauren and Sam was sickened by the demented adoration in his eyes. Max looked up again and met his gaze. “I just don’t have anything to prove to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dun! Guys just can't catch a break.
> 
> Sam whump is coming in the next chapter, so stay tuned!


	11. xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm sorry for this one. It's rough.

_Three and a half years ago_

“Yeah, okay, slow your roll crazy lady.” Lauren laughed as she shouldered open the door to her room.

“I’m serious, L!” Her roommate Caitlin called from the lounge. “Shots in twenty minutes! And then we’re headed to Murphy’s, and you better wear something hot!”

Lauren dumped her gym bag on the floor by the door. She was sweaty, fresh from a god-awful boxing session, and she flicked her ponytail as it stuck to her back. _Gross._ Snagging her towel from the desk chair, she was about to turn and head for the shower when something on her bed caught her eye – a rectangular box, beautifully wrapped in red fleur-de-lise patterned paper and tied with an ink black bow. Lauren picked it up and walked back into the living room, towel over her shoulder, rustling the package gently by her ear.

“Hey, Cait?” She asked, picking at the knot in the ribbon. “Who’s this from?” Caitlin looked up from her phone and frowned, tucking a wisp of her shiny black hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know – no one came by the apartment while I was here. You sure you didn’t just forget about it?”

“No, definitely not. How weird. You sure no one gave this to you to give to me?”

Caitlin held up her hand in mock solemnity. “God’s honest truth.” She smiled, seeing the tightness on Lauren’s face. “Come on, chill! Open it. The super probably just dropped it in – didn’t want it to get banged up in mail distribution, maybe?”

Lauren sighed and undid the bow. In truth, she had been unnecessarily paranoid lately. Always looking over her shoulder, always feeling someone’s eyes on her. _I’ve really got to tone down on those true crime podcasts,_ she thought as she tore into the packaging. Soon a she held a smooth black box with a hinged lid in her hands. At Caitlin’s urging she lifted the lid and pulled away a sheet of black tissue paper to reveal…

“What the fuck.” She said, dropping the box onto the couch like it was on fire. Caitlin caught a glimpse of the contents and screwed up her face Lauren pulled the ‘gift’ out so they could both look at it.

“A fucking ball gag? Seriously?” she had one of the black leather straps pinched between her thumb and forefinger and she looked at the large red ball with disgust. Caitlin shook her head, stunned, and looked down. She reached into the box.

“Look – there’s a note.” She read it, eyes wide, and handed it wordlessly to her friend.

_‘This would look so goddamn amazing between your lips._

_Thinking of you._

_xx’_

“Do you recognise the writing? Is it someone you know?” Caitlin had switched from light hearted to serious and concerned in a heartbeat. Lauren shook her head, then paused.

“hold on…” She disappeared into her room and reappeared a second later with her waste-paper basket, digging through it until she let out huff of triumph. She held a crumpled-up serviette in her hand. Smoothing it down, she set it on the coffee table next to the note.

‘ _I think you’re incredible. Let me cook you dinner sometime?_

_0405 692 385 – M xx’_

Caitlin scrunched up her nose. “Who’s M?”

Lauren shook her head, studying the notes side by side. “Some guy that started coming to the restaurant a lot. Like, every night. Mike, I think? no… Max.” She tilted her head. “Look, the ‘y’s are the same… and the ‘x’s too.”

“What a sleaze-ball. We should call the cops.” Caitlin sat back and reached for her phone. Lauren grabbed her arm.

“No, don’t. I mean, what if it’s not him? And besides, what the hell am I meant to say? ‘hey officer, I think a guy that eats at the restaurant I work at gifted me a ball gag?’ No, no way.” She stood, grabbing up the box and closing the lid. She tossed the whole thing in the bin. “I’m sure you’re right. It was just the super. I’m gonna go shower.” Lauren pretended she didn’t see the worried look on her friend’s face.

****

_Present Day_

Lauren cried out as Sam’s head snapped back, Max’s uppercut jarring and forceful. Sam’s head rolled around and lolled on his chest, bloody spittle dripping from his open mouth.

“Max, stop! You’ve made your point, okay? Stop hurting him, please!” Lauren’s cries fell on deaf ears, however, as Max strode back over to the table and lifted the hunting knife, already stained with Lauren’s own blood, to the light. After she had nearly passed out from lack of oxygen, Max had taken the chain from her collar and tossed it away, pulling thick plastic cord from his bag and attempting to fasten her wrists together. Her mind flashed to that night in the farmhouse, her shoulders aching as he watched her squirm helplessly on the bed. She tried to fight him, wrench her wrists apart, but all that gained her was a searing right hook that spun her around and slammed her into the table. Max had gathered her wrists together again, this time behind her back, and had pushed her down into the chair he had vacated, securing her ankles to the chair legs and securing her bound wrists to the back of the chair. Then he had turned he turned his attention back to Sam.

With what looked like a lot of effort, Sam forced his head up and tried to focus on Max’s face. His face was a mess of blood and darkening bruises – all damage Max had done with his fists only.

“That all you got?” He said, slurring only a little bit. Max lifted the knife.

“Hey, asswipe!” Dean shouted. Max cocked his head and glanced his way. “Why don’t you share the love? I’m feeling a little lonely over here.”

Max scoffed at Dean’s bravado. “You’re right, actually. I have been a bit neglectful.” Dean relaxed as Max stepped away from his brother, and then a cold bolt of fear jolted through him as he realised Max wasn’t walking towards him, but towards Lauren. Dean glanced at Sam, and saw his brother was out cold, unmoving. “Stay away from her.” He growled, hating how useless he felt. He watched as Lauren stiffened, Max’s fingers trailing up her wool covered thigh and then up to graze her shoulder. He bent down to pressed a kiss at the crook of her neck and Lauren swallowed.

“Do you understand, now, love?” He said softly. “Can’t you see how weak he is? How pathetic? Let me take care of you, and I promise I would never put you in the danger these two do.” Lauren said nothing, sweat trickling down her temple. Max noticed, and Dean shuddered as he kissed it away. “Are you warm, Lozzie? Getting hot?” Lauren shook her head, unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

“I’m fine.” She whispered. Max ignored her and knelt down in front of her knees, hands reaching forward to grab the waistband of her sweatpants. Lauren clenched up and shook her head desperately. “No, Max, I’m fine.”

Max ignored her and wrenched her pants down, revealing her smooth, pale legs, still blooming with bruises from the last time he had laid his hands on her naked thighs.

“You bastard.” Dean snarled as Max sawed the legs of the pants open with the hunting knife, throwing the ruined fabric aside and leaving Lauren in Sam’s shirt and her underwear. He tucked the knife

Dean was grateful Sam was unconscious. Max looked over his shoulder at Dean and then stepped aside so he could see Lauren properly. “Isn’t she beautiful, Dean-o?”

Dean ignored him and looked at Lauren, leaning forward as far as his restraints would allow.

“Lauren, we’re going to get you out of this, you hear me? We’ve dealt with worse. It’s going to be okay.”

Lauren’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, her face flushed with shame. She nodded slowly, but Dean didn’t think she believed him. Sam groaned off to his left and all three of them looked over in his direction. The battered man raised his head, his unfocused eyes sliding over the figures of Max and Lauren uncomprehendingly. His guys sharpened as he realised Lauren was now half naked, trying to squirm away from the hand that was stroking the top of her thigh. Sam grunted and pulled against his restraints with all his strength, eyes desperate. Max looked up, amused, hand still brushing over Lauren’s skin.

“This bugs you, doesn’t it Sam?” He said, his hand moving up her leg even further. “Drives you crazy, seeing my hands on her?” His hand disappeared under her shirt and Lauren tensed, squeezing her eyes closed. “Now you know how I felt, watching you defile her, twist her, these past three years. She’s mine, Sammy. You understand that? She doesn’t belong to you, or him. Only me.”

Sam swore at him. “She’s not property, you asshole. She doesn’t belong to you, or anyone. Get your hands off her, or I swear to god-”

“Sam, you really aren’t in the position to be making threats.” Max’s voice was razor sharp. Still, he drew his hand away. “Lozzie here might not see the way things are meant to be just yet, but she will – I’ll make sure of it.” His lips curled up in a tight smile and he turned his back on the Winchesters, kneeling in front of Lauren again and blocking her body from view as he drew the knife again. Lauren’s eyes shot open and she gasped, throwing her head back.

“Stop!” Sam bellowed. “you’re hurting her!”

Max ignored him and remained hunched over Lauren. Her breathing was ragged by the time he stood back, the knife in his hand dripping red. He looked back over his shoulder at the brothers and then stepped to the side. Sam paled.

“You son of a bitch.” Dean said lowly. Lauren was still panting, her chest heaving, shirt sliced down the middle and grey sports bra smeared with red. There, at the top of her stomach, Max had carved a glistening ‘M’.

Lauren couldn’t see it from this angle, but by the looks on the boys’ faces she knew that any chance of redemption for Max had gone up in smoke.

“You’re going to die.” Sam promised, tearing his gaze from Lauren and finding Max’s eyes. Max remained impassive. “You’re going to die.” Sam repeated.

“Yes, I figure I will eventually.” Max wiped the knife clean on his shirt and then pointed it at Sam. “But not before you do.”

****

_Three and a half years ago_

The glow of the laptop screen was the only light in her room, and Lauren was huddled over it, wrapped in a blanket. Her head snapped up at the sound of keys clattering into the bowl in the front room, and she jumped at the knock on her bedroom door.

“L?” The door muffled Caitlin’s voice, but Lauren could still detect the concern in it. “You in there? Angelo left me a message – said you didn’t show up for work. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lauren called out, and even she didn’t believe it.

“I’m coming in.” Caitlin cracked open the door, light from the living room flooding in around her. Lauren squinted as her eyes adjusted. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you show for work?”

Lauren met her eyes and Caitlin baulked at the look in them. Shakily, Lauren pointed to her desk. A black box sat there.

“I came home this morning after I met you for lunch and that was on my bed. Wrapped, like the other one – the one with the gag that I got a couple of weeks ago. Open it.” Caitlin looked at her strangely and lifted the lid. She screamed and stumbled backwards.

“W-what the fuck is that?” She gasped out, her face turning green. Lauren spun her laptop around to show her friend what she had been researching.

“As far as I can tell, it’s a sheep’s heart. There was a note, too.” Lauren recited it from memory: ‘ _You have my heart, Lauren – I hope you will give me yours, too. xx'_

Caitlin looked at her in horror. “We’re calling the police.”

****

Sam bit down on the scream that was tearing at his throat. Breathing raggedly through his nose, he entire body tensed, muscles in his arms corded against the pain as Max pressed the searing red blade against his torso. The rest of his chest was littered with burns similar Dean himself had blood dripping from his nose and three deep slashes across his stomach – Max hadn’t wanted him to feel left out.

“Please, Max, leave him be.” Lauren tried for the hundredth time as he walked back to the table next to her. “I will do anything. _Please,_ just-” Her head snapped to the side with the force of his hit, so fierce she felt her teeth rattle.

“God, Lauren. I love the sound of your voice but shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He grabbed her jaw and forced her to face him. “He doesn’t deserve your pleading, alright? And it won’t make me stop. He is going to suffer, and he is going to die. And then you and I-”

“Will what?” Sam’s voice floated across the room, weak, but steady. “you’re gonna ride off with her into the sunset? You don’t know her, man. She’s stronger than you. You’re not going to get her to give you what you want.” He coughed. “She’ll never love you, you sick bastard. Not after this.”

Max looked into her eyes. “What do you say, Lozzie?”

She frowned. “What?”

“I want to hear your thoughts. Can you love me?”

Her eyes flicked to Sam, then Dean, then back to Max. “Are- are you kidding?” He just stared at her, silent. She swallowed. “What makes you think it is even a possibility? You have hurt me, my family, over and over again. Look what you have done to Sam!” Her voice cracked and she took a deep breath. “How the hell could you think I would have anything but contempt for you?” She struggled against he bonds, drawing his attention to them. “This is fucked, Max, and you know it. I could never love a monster.”

Max’s eyes widened and he staggering back. His face was haggard. “You… you can’t mean it.” He said. “You have to… you…” he turned away from them all and leaned over the sink, breathing hard.

Lauren saw her chance. Slowly, she started twisting her hand again. The cord burned and she felt the trickle of blood over her palm, but she didn’t stop. Faster now, and Dean and Sam were watching, noticing the pain flash across her features as she flexed her arms again and again, always twisting, until there - the hint of give the three of them had each been looking for. She paused, took a breath. And yanked. The pain was unbelievable, but she bit her tongue, keeping one eye on Max’s back. She steeled herself and tugged again, hard. Black spots appeared across her vision as her thumb dislocated with a sick pop, but she managed to keep silent as her hands slipped free. Carefully she stretched for the knife on the table, her fingers brushing the hilt.

“My God.” Max’s voice was heavy with wonder. “You really will do anything for them, won’t you?”

She lunged, gripping the handle of the knife as her chair tumbled forward. She slid the blade under the cord on her ankles, tearing the skin, and sliced the restraints away – right and then left. Rolling clear of the chair she leapt to her feet. It had taken a matter of seconds, but it was all Max needed to pull the gun from his waistband where he had hidden it and fire it twice into the ceiling, the sound deafening. Lauren froze and turned to face him. The gun was pointed at her head and it never wavered as he rounded the table, shifting until he had all three of them in his sights. “Lozzie, I have given you so many chances. But if you aren’t going to give me what I need from you…” He sighed and shifted the gun, squeezing the trigger.

Dean’s chair fell backwards with the force of the bullet, his head slamming into the ground. Lauren screamed and Sam cried out his brother’s name, but Dean didn’t move – she couldn’t see if he was still breathing. Realising what would happen next, Lauren dove in front of Sam, spreading her arms protectively. The knife fell from her hand with a clatter.

“Move.” Max growled, his eyes dead and cold.

“Max, don’t do this, please. I’ll do anything, I’ll _give you anything._ Just, please don’t kill him."

“You have made me so many false promises, Lauren. Move out of the way. I don’t want to have to shoot you, but I will. Once he's out of the way, things will be different. You'll feel different.”

Tears slid down her cheeks and she looked back at Sam. His gut clenched at the look in her eyes – desperate and agonised and so, so sorry.

“Lauren, _don’t._ ” He whispered. “Not for me. Go _. Run.”_ He tried hard not to look at the prone form of his brother - he couldn't lose her too. “Don’t give him anything.”

She turned her back on him and faced Max again. Slowly, so slowly, she dropped to her knees. “I won’t run.” She choked out. “I will never try to leave you. I will do what you say, when you say, and I will never complain. I swear to you, Max.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes and took a shuddering breath. “You’ve already killed his brother – that’s a fate worse than death for Sam. Let him live, I’m begging you.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth, Lauren?” Max asked suspiciously. But he did lower the gun. “What can you do to prove it to me, when all I have gotten from you has been lies and deceit?”

“Look at me, Max.” She said. He did – bloody, and desperate, and kneeling at his feet. “I will do anything. Just don’t hurt him.” She swallowed. “We… you and I, could never come back from that.”

“Lauren, don’t do this!” Sam shouted, tears staining his cheeks. Max swung the gun back up and pointed it between Sam’s eyes. Lauren forced herself not to flinch, not to react.

“But if you let him live,” She continued, swallowing her fear, “if you take me right now and we just drive away, I will be in your debt. It’s something I would never forget, and I will always be grateful.”

After a tense heartbeat, Max lowered the gun again and looked into her eyes. “Okay. But I need you to prove it.”

“How-”

But Max was already unbuckling his belt, and Lauren’s stomach twisted because _of course_ – here she was, on her knees, begging him to let her do anything to prove she meant what she said. _Of course_ it would be this.

Max pulled his dick from his boxers and rubbed it, a sick smile on his face as he glanced up at Sam. In a way, this would be worse for him than it would be for Lauren, and the thought of Sam watching her suck his cock made Max harden as he stepped forward. Lauren closed her eyes, chin trembling.

“Eyes open, sweetheart,” Max ordered softly. “I want to see those baby blues.”

Sam was red with fury, veins bulging in his neck as he strained against the zip ties holding him in place. “Get the fuck away from her,” he growled, but Max only laughed and stroked Lauren’s hair.

“I’m not making her do anything, Sammy – this is all her choice. And she’s choosing me. If you had been a stronger man, maybe you could have held onto her.” Max turned his attention to the girl at his feet.

“Well? I hope for Sammy’s sake you can convince me, Lozzie..”

Lauren opened her eyes and, with a shaking hand, reached out to grip Max by the root. It took everything she had to unclench her jaw and take him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head before taking his throbbing dick deeper, bobbing her head. She felt Max’s hands in her hair, and he moaned.

“Did she do this for you, Sammy?” He asked, guiding Lauren’s mouth to take him deeper. “Christ, she’s like a vacuum.” He groaned again, tightening his fists in her hair, the smooth handle of the gun still nestled in his palm.

Sam stared at him with pure hatred, but Max thought he saw something else in his rival’s eyes… defeat? Pain? Whatever it was, it stoked Max’s fire and he thrust into Lauren’s mouth as far as he could. Lauren let out a muffled cry of shock and gagged, tears and saliva coating her face as she struggled to open her throat at the sudden intrusion. Max’s breathing sped up at the feeling of her throat spasming around his dick and held her in place. He felt her hands scrabble against his thighs, trying to push him away. He tapped the barrel of the gun against her head gently and her hands fell to her sides.

“Remember what you promised me, Lozzie.” He gasped. “Don’t fight me. Otherwise Sammy gets a bullet in his head.” She forced herself to stay still, her vision blurring with tears as she breathed shallowly through her nose.

“Look at me, Lozzie.” Lauren looked up at Max, his face a blur. “You look so pretty like this – your mouth open wide for me. Dontcha think, Sam?” His tone was light, almost conversational.

 _God, Sam, I’m so sorry._ She thought desperately. _I couldn’t see another way. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

Sam didn’t reply and her heart shattered. Max frowned at Sam’s silence and turned his attention back to Lauren.

“We’re going to play a game,” He said to her, releasing her hair with one hand and using it to trace the stretch of her lips around him. “The rules are simple: Don’t fight. And don’t bite.”

And then his fingers where on her nose, pinching it shut. It took a couple of seconds before Lauren realised that her air supply was cut off, and her eyes widened as she began to choke. Instinctively she tried to wrench her head back, but Max kept her head firmly in place. He slapped her cheek gently and shook an admonishing finger. “Uh-uh, no fighting. You’ve already killed one Winchester, Lozzie – do you really want to kill another one?” Mind reeling, Lauren stilled, putting all her effort into not snapping her jaw shut. Her lungs started to burn, her vision to darken, but she held herself back. As the world started to fade, she heard Sam from behind her cry out, his voice raw and full of anger. Then she felt Max pump into her twice more and explode, coating the back of her throat as he came.

Then she was on the floor and gasping like a fish out of water, coughing nd gagging and sucking in great lungful’s of air. Her limbs felt floppy and weak and her throat burned, the taste of salt in her mouth.

“See?” She gasped out. “See?” for the life of her she couldn’t form any other words. She felt a hand on her cheek, and for a moment thought it had to be Sam before she shook that thought away. It couldn’t be, wouldn’t be him, ever – he would never touch her again, not after that. She held in a sob as Max lifted her to her feet and pulled her tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

“Lozzie, shhh. You did good. You did so good,” he murmured into the crown of her head. “My good girl.”

Lauren knew that if she turned her head to left, just a couple of inches, she would be able to see Sam’s face. She couldn’t bear the thought of how he would look at her if she did though, so she just kept her forehead pressed against Max’s chest, her tears soaking his shirt. Max pulled back and cupped her face, wiping his thumbs over her cheekbones just like Sam did whenever she used to go somewhere without him, drinking her in as if it was the last time he would ever see her.

Max tore his eyes from Lauren’s face and looked over at Sam – he had stopped struggling, eyes bloodshot and filled with pain. _All but broken,_ Max thought with satisfaction. He turned back to Lauren.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked her. She stared at him, the breath of a retort on her lips. Then, all at once, he felt the fight go out of her.

“I belong to you.”


	12. Can't you see the tears in her eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "You Are The Problem Here" by the first Aid Kits - seriously, go hit up that song. It's brutal in the best way. And despite the material I'm writing and Lauren's constant self-blame, it perfectly encapsulates my views on the subject of rape and victim-blaming.

Everything hurt. There wasn’t a single part of his body that wasn’t reached by the relentless pulse of pain that radiated through him, as if carried by his blood. He was soaked, and distantly he wondered if it had been raining. But no, that didn’t make sense, because the voices that floated around him weren’t outside voices. They were too… echo-y. _Inside,_ he decided. He couldn’t figure out if it was real – if anything was real. Was he real? He thought, probably, yes.

_“We’re going to play a game…”_

Sick, wet sounds followed. The awful sound of someone choking, _drowning_ almost. Someone screamed, in rage or pain or some horrific combination of the two. In truth, he wasn’t even sure who had screamed – was it him? That would make sense.

 _“See? See?”_ A name swam to the surface – Lauren. That was definitely Lauren. _See what?_ He wanted to ask, and it was then that he realised why everything was so confused, so dark. He cracked his eyes open, grey metal swirling and eddying above him. Slowly, slowly, the world focussed around him. He decided to list what he knew, and a distant thought caught his attention – something about someone being… not proud, but impressed? No, not that. Surprised, maybe. Yeah, that sounded right – _surprised_ at his thinking. He went back to his list.

There is a voice, which probably means there is a person, that I want to light on fire.

Lauren wants me to see.

Someone is angry, or in pain (both? Both. Definitely a possibility.) He had the impression that he should be angry too.

It was a small list, but it was something.

_“Lozzie, shhh.”_

He frowned. _Hey!_ He wanted to shout. _You don’t get to call her that._ But his lips wouldn’t move. Nothing would. And then the truth flooded over him, like that time dad had taken him to the beach and he had been knocked over by a wave, tumbling in the surf and the sand until he somehow, impossibly, righted himself.

He was Dean. He had a hole in his shoulder. His brother probably thought he was dead. (He probably should be dead.) But there was only going to be one death tonight, and it sure as flying fuck wasn’t going to be him.

****

For the first time in three years, Sam felt utterly alone. He couldn’t bring himself to look over at his big brother’s body, lifeless and greying on the floor by the stairs. Lauren hadn’t looked at him again after… well. After. And he couldn’t blame her, because what the hell kind of hunter was he if he wasn’t able to stop that atrocity. What kind of man, what kind of partner to Lauren was he if she had had to get on her _knees_ and beg for his life and do _that_ to prove his worthless hide was worth saving?

Sam sagged in his chair, staring at the space where Lauren had been, locked in another man’s arms. Max had led her away, down the hall, and Sam tried not to think about what else was happening to woman he loved while he was too weak to protect her. He tugged at his restraints, more from muscle memory and years of conditioning than any hope of actual escape. Something was running down his cheek, and Sam couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears. And, honestly? He really didn’t care.

****

Max led Lauren down the hall, her limp hand gripped in his. It was only when they reached the bedroom she shared with Sam – _used to,_ she reminded herself. _He won’t share it with me again_ – that she realised what Max had in mind. She started to pull away, but the look in Max’s eye told her to remember her promise, her place. He paused at the doorway and motioned for her to go in ahead of him. Her eyes fell upon the red-wrapped gift on the bedspread. She had forgotten that – the present sitting on the table as she had descended the stairs all those hours ago, the one that put her so off balance that she had let Max overtake her without even the thought of a fight. Lauren swallowed.

“Is that for me?” She asked. Max wrapped his arms around her stomach, careful to avoid the patch where her shirt stuck to the bloody M carved under her breasts and placed his chin on her shoulder.

“Mm-hmm. I kept it for you, after you threw it away all those years ago. That really hurt me, Lauren.” His arms tightened a fraction and she held her breath. “But I forgive you, baby. I figured we could start fresh. Go on – open it.” He released her and she took a shaky step forward. Never before had she wanted to open a present to find a bloody sheep’s heart more in her life. Still, she steadied her hands and tore away the paper, all too aware of the heat of Max’s body behind her. Lifting the lid of the box, Lauren’s chin trembled at the sight of the red ball staring up at her.

“Do you like it?” She was startled by just how hopeful Max sounded.

“I… uh...” What the hell could she say? “It’s…”

Max seemed less than impressed with her response. He brushed past her and lifted the gag from the black box. He unbuckled it was practiced fingers and held it up to her.

“Open up, Lozzie. I’ve waited three and a half years to see this between those pretty lips.”

“Max-”

“You promised me, Lozzie. No fighting.” A wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “Or should we go have Sammy-boy break this in for you? Hmm?”

The thought of Sam humiliated even further by her own pathetic weakness, _again,_ was too much. Meekly she opened her mouth and Max pressed the ball between her teeth, stretching her jaw even wider. He fixed the buckle behind her head and stepped back, taking her in.

“You’re just as beautiful as I imagined.” He said softly. Lauren couldn’t ignore the bulge in his jeans as his hand ghosted over the ball holding her mouth open.

Her jaw ached already, and she was having trouble swallowing. It took everything she had not to tear the horrible thing from her mouth and throw it in Max’s face. But the thought Sam, the pain in his eyes as she had turned her back on him, forced her to keep still.

“Lie down.”

Lauren did as she was told, lying on her back in the middle of the bed and trying not to cry at how much it smelled like home. Max pulled off his shirt and then hers, ignoring how she winced as the fabric peeled away bloody from the carving on her ribs. She was naked beneath him but for her underwear and Max gazed at her lovingly before he dipped his mouth to her breasts, nibbling at a nipple until it peaked, his hand sliding down to cup her mound, sliding his fingers beneath the fabric and curling them up into her. He smiled against her breast at the wetness he found there.

Lauren held in a sob as she lay there, determined not to fight but not to participate either. He had her obedience, but he would never have her consent.

****

There was something under his hip. Dean bit his lip and, risking the movement, rocked the chair - it shifted as if on a fulcrum, and he smiled as his hunch payed off – there was something wedged between the back of the chair and the floor. He lifted his head and had to bite back a groan at the spasm of dizzying pain the movement brought on. He had heard Max and Lauren walk away, but from this angle he couldn’t see shit – he had no idea if they were still in the room, or if they had disappeared deeper into the bunker. He hadn’t seen them ascend the stairs above him, so he knew for sure they were still here somewhere. He shifted again and grimaced at the scrape of the wood on the tile under him. Dean lay still for twenty heartbeats, until he was sure no one was about to put another bullet where it would count. He had decided that Max was a lousy shot – He clearly hadn’t hit anything important, or at least, nothing life threatening. Of course, that would be a different story if Dean couldn’t get free and put a stop to the bleeding.

The older Winchester risked another full body squirm that earned him a movement of a couple of inches, and even more rewarded him with the whisper of a bone handle against his fingertips – the knife, Sammy’s knife – the one he had been holding when the brothers had burst into the bunker, the one Sam had been forced to drop by the stairs at the sight if Lauren’s blood coursing down the side of her bruised face. Just the thought If it caused Dean’s chest to tighten, and he shifted again until his tightly bound hand could grasp the blade, drawing it out from under the chair. As the last of the blade slide free, the chair settled itself on the floor with a soft thump. Dean froze at the sound, straining his ears for any hint of Max returning. Instead, he heard his brother’s tear-choked whisper:

“D-Dean?”

Sam hardly dared to breath – he had definitely seen Dean’s body move that time; he was sure of it.

“Heya, Sam.” Dean whispered back, his voice thick with pain and a bone deep effort.

Sam’s breath hitched as he let out a strangled sob. “I thought you were dead…. He shot you.”

Dean grunted. “Winged me.” He concentrated on spinning the knife in his left hand until the sharp edge of the blade lay against his wrist and the first of the zip ties. “Where’s Lauren? Max?”

Sam was silent. Dean thought he was going to have to prompt the kid before he finally spoke, his voice heavy with shame and anger and self-loathing. “He took her down the hall – the bedroom.” Dean’s heart sank. “She gave herself up for me, Dean.” Sam’s voice was thick with misery and Dean closed his eyes. _This day is so fucked up_.

“Sammy, it’s gonna be fine.” Dean said through gritted teeth as he sawed through the first zip tie, feeling the bite of metal in his own wrist as well. He pushed the blade up further. _Two to go._

“You didn’t see-”

“No, Sam, I didn’t. I heard enough.” The words sounded harsher, more accusing, than Dean intended. He felt the second zip tie snap and release. _One more._ “But right now, I need you to shut up so I can concentrate. I’ve almost… al-most…” _Snap._ “There.” His arm free, Dean made short work of the rest of his restrains, ignoring how the world billowed around him with the splitting pain in his head whenever he moved. He rolled away from the chair with all the grace of a panda and crawled over to Sam, not trusting himself to stay conscious if he tried to stand. He cut Sam’s left hand free and then handed him the knife, twisting to lean against the chair as Sam freed himself. Within moments Sam was in front of him, chest bare, his own torn white work shirt balled up as he pressed it against the wound on his older brother’s shoulder – it was a through shot, but no less nasty. Sam lifted Dean’s hand to hold the fabric in place.

“Keep pressure on that.” Sam said in a hoarse voice. He stood and moved to the table, swapping the knife to his non dominant hand and picking up Max’s discarded gun in the other. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sammy.” Dean said, and his brother turned to meet his gaze, the same cold promise of retribution burning in green and hazel eyes. “Don’t fucking miss.”

  
****

Sam crept towards the bedroom door, the moans and fevered grunting emanating from beyond the closed door stoking the fire of pure fury that has building in his chest. Even When Lucifer was in him, he had never felt anger, the need for vengeance as keenly as he did now. It was all consuming, and distantly he realised his hands were shaking with the adrenaline it sent coursing through his veins. He heard a strangled cry from within. _Lauren._ Something in his chest snapped and he kicked the door in, the doorframe around the lock splintering with the force of it. Max was on top of Lauren, holding her legs against his chest as he ploughed into her, her hands clenched in the bedspread, eyes squeezed shut. It was the sight of the gag, though, that ruined Sam – her chapped, split lips spread too wide around that red ball, slippery with her saliva, her jaw so clearly wrenched open painfully far. Max only had time to turn halfway to the door before Sam shoulder-charged him, throwing him clear of Lauren, his dick sliding free with a sickeningly wet sound. Sam placed himself between Max and Lauren. Something in him broke and suddenly Sam was kicking him, over and over and over, vision and hearing tunnelling until it was only his boot, Max’s body, curling in on itself protectively, and the snapping of his ribs. A muffled shout from behind him broke his crazed assault and Sam stopped as suddenly as he began, chest heaving. He turned to Lauren.

She was dazed, trembling, eyes locked on him with something that made him want to curl up like Max and cry. Sam climbed onto the bed, moving as if he was approaching a frightened deer. Lauren sobbed something he thought was ‘get it off’ and the spell was broken. He held up the knife, sliding it carefully under the band around her head and slicing it apart. The gag slid free and Lauren closed her mouth with a snap, working her jaw with a soft moan of relief. Sam tossed it aside in disgust and pulled Lauren’s naked, shivering frame against his chest with one arm, holding her tight.

“It’s over,” He said firmly. “It’s over.” He released her and turned back to Max. The man was groaning on the floor as he tried to rise to his feet. He got as far as leaning his back against the wall when he noticed Sam watching him, gun up. Max stayed there, one arm wrapped around his ribs. He cracked a ruined smile and began to laugh.

“Damn,” he said, his voice wet and bloody. “I underestimated you, Winchester.” He let out a cough, and blood bubbled up at the edges of his mouth. “You might not have been good enough for her,” he inclined his head to Lauren, who had dragged the covers around her bare shoulders and was staring at Max, her eyes shining with bitter triumph and seething hatred. “But smarter than the average bear, I’ll give you that.”

Max’s eyes rolled over to meet Lauren’s, and she almost hid her flinch as their eyes met. “I love you Lozzie,” he said. “It might have gotten a little lost here for a while, but.” He hacked out a cough. “But everything I did I did for you… for us.”

Sam cocked the gun, his finger on the trigger. Lauren’s hand on his arm stopped him, however, and he looked at her questioningly. She shook her head and he lowered the gun.

“What…” He started. Max began to laugh.

“I knew it!” He sputtered out. “Lozzie, I knew it. You and I have something, sweetheart, don’t we? You won’t let him kill me.”

She smiled, and it was one that sent a shiver of ice down Sam’s spine as she took the gun from his hand. Max didn’t notice, however, and smiled back.

“Of course, I wouldn’t let him kill you, Max.” Her voice was soft. Dangerously soft. “You’re my monster to put down.” With that she lifted the gun and squeezed the trigger, firing the gun again and again until it clicked, empty. Max was lifeless on the floor and Lauren fell forward, Sam catching her in his arms as she sobbed. He stayed there, crouched over her, holding her tight until she pushed upwards.

“It’s over.” She said, disbelief colouring her words.

Sam helped her off the bed, the bed covers still wrapped around her shoulders, and guided her away from the carnage the lay behind them.

“It’s over.”

Neither of them could decide if they really believed that. But for now, they let themselves be convinced.

Reality could wait for the sun to rise.


	13. Let it be enough

It had been two weeks since the nightmare with Max had ended.

Physically, they had all healed up – The unnatural bleeding between Lauren’s legs had stopped, the cuts on her back were slowly scarring and her bruises had faded. Her knees had given out under her when she woke up one morning, 1.5 weeks post Max, to find her period had come in the night.

Sam had been too worried about Dean’s gunshot wound, about Lauren, to properly catalogue his injuries that night. But once Dean had been patched up, he had taken to cleaning and stitching whatever he could reach. Eventually, Lauren had approached him silently and taken the alcohol-soaked cotton swap from his hand. She had taken over the medical side of things and Sam had sat there, hyper aware of her every touch and the fact that she still hadn’t said anything. He opened and closed his mouth a hundred times, each time realising he had no idea what to say, how to _fix_ it. The window slammed shut on him. When Lauren gently put down the tools and tapped his shoulder twice to signify she was finished, he had turned to catch her slipping away into the bowels of the bunker without a word.

That was the last time they had even gotten close to talking to each other in any meaningful way. Lauren could hardly bear to look at Sam, and frankly he could hardly look at her either.

Unfortunately, they each thought the other was avoiding them for exactly the wrong reasons. Lauren was sure Sam’s careful interest in whatever book was nearby whenever she entered a room was because he was disgusted by the sight of her, betrayed by her actions in the kitchen and in their bedroom that night. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since she had painted the wall with Max’s blood, and secretly she had packed and unpacked her things seemingly a thousand times since then, convinced that the only way to heal, to let Sam heal, was to run away. Again.

Sam, on the other hand, felt shame so bone deep he started to shake if he thought about it too much. From the moment he woke in the morning to the time he slid into a restless pseudo-sleep at night, he tore himself to shreds for letting Lauren be in that position with Max. For not being strong enough to protect her, like he had promised her he would all those years ago in her tiny bathroom in Georgia.

And it seemed, for the first time since he could remember, Dean was the only one smart enough to realise that these two kids, whip-crack sharp when it came to monsters and research and all things evil, were, when it came to their own relationship, ten pounds of stupid in a five pound bag.

****

Dean rolled his shoulder and grimaced. It was taking him longer to recover from the gunshot than he had expected – it hadn’t hit anything important directly, but Sam had guessed it had nicked _something_. He had only recently been able to truly test its mobility in the last few days, and the result had been less than encouraging. Any time he had lifted his arm higher than his shoulder resulted in a bolt of pain akin to being stabbed – repeatedly.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice jerked Dean from his thoughts. “I’ve got a job. California, but it looks pretty big.”

“Cali?” Dean questioned. “That’s fucking far, especially after…”

Sam ignored the trail Dean had tried to lay. “It’s important, Dean. People are dying.”

Dean sighed and rolled his shoulder again. “Fine.” He cocked his head. “Have you spoken to Lauren about it?”

Sam tightened and turned away, affecting nonchalance. “She’s got leads on another case that she’s following up on.”

“Huh.” Dean didn’t have anything else to say. He didn’t like the fact that Sam and Lauren had been playing at ghosts, pretending that the other wasn’t anything more than another hunter. “Okay. Can you do me a favour though? I think I left Dad’s pistol down in the dungeon. Grab it for me? I’ve gotta finish up my exercises.” He lifted his arm. Sam rolled his eyes and nodded, turning towards the hall that led to the hidden cell.

“Whatever.”

**** 

It had been exactly fourteen hours since Lauren had had any kind of semi-meaningful conversation with Sam (He had asked her to hand him a book. She had mentioned that it was a good read). She wanted nothing more than to curl up against his chest, feel his hand stroking through her hair, feel _normal_ again. But after Max, after Sam had seen just how easily she had given herself to another man, no words seemed like they would be enough to repair their relationship. Tears sprang to her eyes and she dragged a hand across her face, suddenly furious. She had never been much of a crier, but these past three weeks had seen her sob like a child more times than she could count. She felt weak. _Pathetic_. Lauren stamped down on her rising emotions and refocused on the book in front of her, a guide written by a Man of Letters on identification of Djinn. Her phone buzzed on the floor next to her seat and she reached for it, wobbling slightly as she bent, her ribs still aching a bit.

It was a text from Dean – ‘meet me in the dungeon, need a hand.’ _of course._ She thought, sighing. _Dude gets shot once in the shoulder and suddenly he’s incapable of anything._ She uncurled herself and shoved away from the sofa, noting the page number she was on before dropping the book on the couch. She made her way through the bunker, thinking hard about the possible Djinn problem in Florida that she had been looking into. Dean was standing in the hall outside of the storage room that led to the demon holding cell, and when he saw Lauren appear he opened the door. Lauren made to follow him inside and he waved her on ahead. She opened her mouth to ask him what he needed, but her voice died in her throat as she stepped into the cell.

Sam was standing in the middle of the room, his back to her. He must have heard Lauren’s footsteps and turned to her.

“Dean, I can’t find-” His eyes landed on Lauren and he fell silent, those hazel eyes flicking away from her uncomfortably.

“Uh, sorry…” Lauren stammered out. She took a step back, started to pivot, and was met with the iron door swinging shut in her face. Dean’s eyes appeared in the slit about two thirds of the way up. Her hand went to the handle but the door was sealed shut. “Dean, what the fuck?” She said in a low voice, hyper-aware of Sam standing just a few feet behind her. “Open the door.”

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” He responded. “At least not until the two of you sort out whatever the hell is going on between you. I don’t care what you do – talk, fuck-”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rang out, dripping with disapproval and annoyance. Dean ignored him and kept talking as if his brother hadn’t said anything.

“-or throw down, but you need to do something because, frankly, the tension is killing me. Jesus, you’re both meant to be the smart ones – the emotionally stable ones. So,” He pointed a finger through the hole in the door and waggled it at them. Lauren had an overwhelming urge to snap it off. “Stabilize.” Then the little window slipped shut and Lauren was alone with Sam for first time in weeks.

****

“Jerk.” Sam muttered under his breath and raked his hand through his hair. Lauren was still facing the door, knuckles tightening into fists. She turned to face Sam, and he felt a twinge of shame when he noticed how obviously she had to force herself to meet his eyes. She smiled tightly and rolled her shoulders.

“We were going to have to talk eventually.” She said, unclenching her hands and lifting her arms to hug herself tightly. “And Dean’s never been the subtlest person when it comes to what he wants.”

Sam huffed out a dry laugh. “So…” He didn’t know where to begin. How could he communicate to her just how gut-wrenchingly sorry he was?

“So,” Lauren continued for him. “Now that I’ve healed up, I figured I’d get my things together and head-”

“What?” Sam’s voice was sharper than he intended and his heart hurt as Lauren flinched. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You- you want to leave?”

Her eyes flicked away from him. “It’s probably best, right? I mean, It’s not like…” She sighed. “I don’t… I can’t…”

Sam moved forward and Lauren backed away. “Lauren, just talk to me. Tell me what to do here, because I feel like I’m treading water and barely keeping my head above the surface.”

“I can’t stand you looking at me like that, alright?” She almost shouted at him.

“Like what?” He frowned, not understanding.

She flung an arm out in his direction. “Like that! Like I’m damaged goods. Broken. I know that, okay? Don’t you think that it killed me, choosing that? Choosing him? But God, Sam, he was going to _kill_ you and I-” her voice cracked and she turned her head away, breathing harshly through her nose as she tried to get her emotions under control. “You have every right to be disappointed with me, Sam. Disgusted. I know I sure as hell am. But I can’t deal with seeing it in your eyes every day, okay? I can deal with a lot of pain, but not that. So, I have to go. It’ll be better for both of us.”

Sam took an involuntary step back, reeling. “what… the fuck, Lauren?”

“I’ll pack up, it won’t take me long, and then you won’t have to deal with me and mess I constantly make you clean-”

Lauren’s back hit the door as Sam shoved her – no, not shoved. Pushed? Still not right. But her back hit the metal and pain lanced down her spine, balanced by the warmth of his hands - large and calloused and so, so gentle - on her face.

“You think I’m disgusted by you?” His voice was low, hoarse. “Lauren… God. I could _never…_ I’m so damn sorry you thought that even for a second I feel anything but love and pride when I look at you. You are the bravest, most selfless person I have ever known, and it killed me knowing you gave yourself up for me – not because of what you did but because I wasn’t able to protect you from _him._ ” He took a shuddering breath, his eyes glimmering with barely suppressed tears. “I promised you, when we met, that I would protect you – I promised I would always protect you. And I failed. More than once, I _failed you_ and I will never forgive myself for that. Never.”

Lauren lifted her hands, pale and shaking, to cover his. “You don’t have to apologise-”

“Yeah, I do.” Sam cut her off, his voice so soft and so desolate it almost took her breath away. “And I am so, so sorry I ever let him lay his hands on you. If you let me, I will spend the rest of our lives making that up to you. Please, Lauren, don’t leave.” He swallowed, the tears breaking like a dam breaks its walls after a flood, streaking down his face. “Don’t leave me.”

The anvil that had been slowly crushing Lauren’s chest lifted, slowly at first, and then all at once in a rush that left her gasping. Her hands tightened over Sam’s.

“Okay.” She whispered, and the smile that broke across his face - dimples creasing his cheeks and blurring as her own eyes filled with tears – was like the sun breaking through the darkest of clouds. “Okay.” She took a breath, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I love you, Sammy.”

He sniffed and pressed his lips to hers. A kiss filled with promise, with hope.

“Always,” she said. He pulled her in and for the first time in weeks she felt truly, absolutely safe. Home.

She felt his voice rumble in his chest.

“Always.”


End file.
